The Mysterious Mrs LaFleur
by makealist
Summary: A mysterious note in Daniel's journal puts Sawyer on edge. There was a Mrs. LaFleur? Who was she and what happened to her?
1. Daniel's Journal

**Well, darn it, I lied. I didn't update my other story like I said I would. I wrote like two paragraphs, but it is kind of boring me. I still promise -- absolutely -- to finish it, but I need a break. So this is a Dharma story. If you are a fan of the other story, then you can just imagine it's the same story, only it's what took place in Dharma times. 'K? And I promise to get back to the other one. Maybe if I am working on two at once I won't get so bored.**

It had all started their 10th night in Dharmaville. The night his fate was sealed – the fate he was going to do everything in his power to avoid. Sawyer often replayed the night in his mind.

They were gathered in their bunkroom. Under normal circumstances, any of the five of them probably would have complained about their living conditions: one room with two bunk beds, a couch, a table, and a tiny bathroom. But these weren't normal circumstances at all. In fact, they were all more than grateful for clean sheets, a shower, a roof over their heads . . .

Jin and Juliet had the "neat" bunk. Every morning, they got up and made their bunks with neat hospital corners. Even now he could see Jin's loaner jumpsuit and t-shirts neatly folded and stacked on the top bunk. Juliet had somehow scored a crossword puzzle book and a paperback, and they were always neatly stacked, along with a few pens on her lower bunk. Sawyer and Miles' bunk . . . well, let's just say they'd chosen their bunkmates wisely. Jin and Juliet could keep up their anal, obsessive neatness, no skin off Sawyer's nose.

The bunks were close, close enough to reach out and touch the person sleeping in the bunk next to you. This actually came in handy, when they discovered Miles could be a mighty snorer. Jin would just reach over, give Miles a good shake or two, and peace would be restored.

Most nights Sawyer tossed and turned. He wondered about Kate. Was she safe? Jin said the helo made it off the ship. She had to be safe, and he was sure Jack would take good care of her. But, dammit, why had he jumped? How would things have been different?

If he tossed and turned enough, Juliet would realize he was awake and sometimes whisper over to him.

"Six letters. First name of Yankees star. 'REGGIE' doesn't fit," had been last night.

"Reggie Jackson doesn't play for the Yankees yet," he pointed out.

"Good point. MICKEY, then . . . nope that doesn't fit either."

"Try WHITEY. Whitey Ford. W-H-I-T-E-Y."

"That's it, thank you!"

"Knock it off, you two!" hissed Miles from above Sawyer's head.

This evening, they were all gathered for decision making. The sub returned tomorrow and was leaving again four days later. They were supposed to be on it. Every morning, Sawyer had set out with Jin, Juliet, and Miles and they'd searched. They'd told Dharma they were looking for their crew, and they were – Bernard, Rose, and the rest had to be somewhere, didn't they? And there was the unspoken hope every morning that this would be the day that some way, somehow, Locke would be back. And he would surely know what to do.

They had their own time travel expert with them, but Daniel had spoken less than 10 words since their arrival 10 days ago. Their very first night, Daniel had staked out the couch. They'd promised to rotate, so he wouldn't be stuck there every night, but Daniel refused to move from the couch except to eat and use the bathroom.

So, now they had to decide. Sawyer thought he could probably persuade Horace into letting them stay. Every day they were here, there was more chance they'd somehow be able to right things and get home – whatever, whenever, that meant. "Sub's back tomorrow," he said to his friends. "So, let's hear it. Who's staying?"

Jin answered first. "I cannot leave." Sawyer understood. Leaving this Island in 1974 meant Jin had no chance to reunite with his wife.

Juliet was next. "I said I'd stay two weeks. If Locke's not back in the next few days, I'm leaving." He was disappointed to hear it, but he understood her, too. He'd come to find out how much she hated this place.

Now it was Miles' turn. "I'm outta here. It creeps me out too much seeing them every day." Sawyer knew that by "them" Miles meant his parents. Creepy was right – he understood Miles' desire to leave.

"What about you Einstein?" Sawyer turned to Daniel, in the corner.

Daniel answered dully. "Doesn't matter what we decide. If we're supposed to leave, we'll leave. If we're supposed to stay, we'll stay. Doesn't matter."

"You're saying we have no choice?" asked Juliet.

"Oh, you can 'choose' all you want, but it won't matter," answered Daniel.

"What do you mean?" Juliet asked him.

"Well, it's like this: you say you're leaving. But if you're supposed to be here – if there's some reason you're supposed to be here, something you're supposed to do? You CAN'T leave. Something will stop you. The sub will break down. Someone else will take your seat. You'll break an ankle, and they'll pull you off. And if none of that happens . . . you'll just decide to stay. You'll change your mind."

"Ha!" Juliet responded. "I can promise you that's not happening. I'm on that sub on my way off this place? Trust me, I'm not changing my mind."

"This is nuts," Sawyer broke in. "You're saying we don't got a choice . . . in any of this?"

"I'm saying that whatever happened, happened. We can't change the past, no matter what we try."

"Horseshit!" declared Sawyer. "You're tellin' us we already been through this already? No way."

"Actually, I think I can prove it," said Daniel, standing up from the couch, and flipping through his ever-present book, or journal, or diary, or whatever the hell it was. He was more animated than they'd seen him since Charlotte had died. Sawyer threw a "what the hell?" look Juliet's way. She replied with a "beats me" look of her own.

Daniel kept flipping pages. "Tell me again what you told them your name was?" he asked.

Jesus! They'd gone over and over this for ten days. They'd spent whole afternoons concocting their cover story, practicing his new name. Sawyer rolled his eyes.

"LaFleur!" shouted Miles. "Jim LaFleur!"

"OK, hmmm . . . see, right! Here it is!" Daniel yelped triumphantly.

"What's that, Daniel?" asked Juliet.

"Well, I've done some research on the Dharma Initiative . . ."

Sawyer rounded on him. "That would have been nice to know, doncha think?"

Daniel kept on. "Yeah, well, mostly about their research and experiments, but I thought your named sounded familiar. Jim LaFleur was the head of security for the D.I. during the mid-70s. See?" He waved a page in Sawyer's face. "You were always here."

The group sat in stunned silence. Couldn't be, could it? Juliet was the first to speak. "Maybe there's someone else with the same name?"

"Wouldn't someone have mentioned that by now?" noted Miles.

But Daniel wasn't finished. "Well, apparently you and your wife disappear under mysterious circumstances in 1977."

"Nuh uh. Ain't me, partner. I ain't married."

"Not yet, you're not," Daniel replied.

Sawyer thought he was used to insane. He'd had nearly four months filled with insanity, but this took the cake. Daniel was standing there, looking triumphant and twitchy. He wanted to wring his neck. This was all just too much. He was supposed to get married? To one of these hippy Dharma chicks? Absolutely no way. He looked around the room, hoping to find an ally. Who knows how much Jin understood? Miles was studiously avoiding eye contact. Juliet was giving Dan the scary blue steel glare.

"Does it say anything about the rest of us, Daniel?" she asked, calmly.

"What do you mean?" he responded.

Miles now piped up. "Your book says LaFleur and the missus . . ." Sawyer snorted in disgust. Miles continued. "They disappear in 1977 . . . but what about the rest of us? Does your book say what happens to us?"

"Ummmm . . ." Daniel began flipping through his book.

None of it mattered, though, thought Sawyer. The sub was leaving in four days. "Well, that settles it," he announced to the group. "I'm on the sub with Miles and Juliet."

"You can't leave," Daniel protested.

"You gonna stop me?" Sawyer was getting fed up with Dan's mumbling and craziness and overall smarter-than-you persona. So, Dan's answer didn't help matters much.

"Did you not hear what I just explained? Whatever happened, happened. You were here until 1977, so there's no way you'll get on that sub on Friday. Just get that through your thick skull."

Without thinking, Sawyer reached out and grabbed Dan by his lapels, slamming him into the wall. Juliet and Jin were up in a flash, set to pull him off Dan, when there was a knock at the door.

"Jim, you in there?" It was Horace. Sawyer set Dan down gently. "Come on in, H," he called.

"Can we go somewhere to talk?" Horace asked.

"Whatever you need to say, you can say to all of us."

"All right, then," Horace began. "There's been a problem in Ann Arbor. The sub's not coming tomorrow. In fact, it won't be back for six months at least. So here's the deal – you and your folks can leave us and fend for yourselves in the jungle, or you can stay here – as members of the Dharma Initiative. We have some openings in security."

They all sat in stunned silence -- again. Sawyer noticed a glimmer of satisfaction in Dan's eyes. Miles, meanwhile, was just shaking his head, while Juliet took a noticeable gulp.

"I think . . ." Sawyer started. He looked over to Juliet, who nodded. "I think we'll stay here, if that's all right with you."

"Of course. Glad to hear it," said Horace, backing out the door. "I can get you folks through orientation starting tomorrow." And he was gone.

"See? What did I tell you? We can't leave." Dan said.

With that, Sawyer saw Juliet drop her face to her hands. They were stuck.

"Look," Daniel was saying. "I couldn't explain this to some of the brightest minds of our generation. There's no way I could expect _you_ to get it."

And now Miles added, "I guess I'll have to think of a good wedding present for you and Mrs. LaFleur."

And with that, Sawyer stalked out the front door and slammed it shut.

He was sitting on a picnic table, fuming. Was it true? Were their fates sealed? And Dan, that twitchy, nervous geek, was no help, was he? Just another arrogant overeducated dipwad with a long line of fancy degrees. Lot of good that did. What was worse? That they were stuck here for another three years? Or that Dan's journal said he had a wife? God forbid. He might be able to stick it out if he could stay with his friends, but the thought of some 1970s Dharma hippy chick wife . . . not gonna happen.

Someone sat next to him. If it was Daniel, he was going to wring his skinny neck. Thankfully, though, it was Juliet.

"Sorry I flew off the handle back there," he said. "It's just . . . Daniel . . . Have you ever noticed that the more degrees someone has the more of an asshole they are?"

She paused. "You calling me an asshole, James?"

He chuckled. "Exception proves the rule. Daniel, though . . .don't get me started on that guy."

"You should cut him some slack. The woman he loved just died right in front of him."

"Yeah, like ten days ago!! It's about time for him to get his head back in the ballgame. I can't believe how broken up he is over some damn woman."

"Wow," she replied. "That is really, really heartless – even for you. I feel sorry for Mrs. LaFleur."

"Yeah, well, don't even get me started on THAT."

She laughed. "That's what's really bothering you isn't it?" She laughed some more.

"Go ahead and laugh. Fine. It ain't your name in that damn book. And don't even think of saying 'marriage ain't that bad' or something else ridiculous. I don't wanna hear it."

"I wouldn't think of it. Besides, in my experience . . . marriage IS that bad. Better you than me, I say."

He shook his head. "How weird is it, though? That my name's in that book of his? And then, sure thing, no sub to take us off here?

"Weird. Very weird," she agreed. She stood up, patted him twice on the shoulder. "Well, I'll leave you to your thoughts," and was off.

Very well, he thought. He'd just have to be on his guard. No way he was going to accidentally get married. He'd just steer clear of women altogether. No problem. Jin, Juliet, and Miles were more friends than he'd had most of his life. He didn't need any more companionship than the three of them.

**Next up: Find out how Sawyer reacts when the resident Dharma hussy makes a pass at him in the lunch room (when I get around to it . . . maybe I will update the other story first, but probably neither for like a week or so).**


	2. Lunchroom Encounter

Two months down. Really, Sawyer thought, they should have reached the end of their rope long ago. Or at least, he knew _he_ should have. Instead, he found himself settling into life in Dharmaville quite easily. He didn't know about the rest of his "crew," but he didn't mind coming "home" every night to their crowded bunkroom. Construction of new houses was under way, and they all knew (or hoped) their current accommodations were temporary.

But, fact was, he just plain liked it. There was a rhythm to the nights and days they spent together. He'd lie in his bunk reading. Miles and Jin would play a few games of checkers. And he knew that when Miles reached Jin's end of the board, he'd shout "King Me! King Me! King Me!" in a series of ridiculous voices. And he knew that when the game was over, win or lose, Jin would step out the door and stand staring at the stars for while before coming in to bed.

He knew that Daniel may or may not come in, and he might or might not mumble something to all or one of them.

He knew that when Juliet got to a good part in her book, she'd read with her right hand covering up the bottom part of each page ("It keeps me from looking ahead," she'd explained). And he knew that when she took her hair out of her ponytail (and he found that this was a part of the night he hated to miss for some reason), it was only seconds before she'd say "Night James, see you in the morning."

Some nights, if they were all in bed, they'd start a "Goodnight Miles," "Goodnight Juliet," "Goodnight LaFleur," "Goodnight John-Boy," routine. It was funny when they first did it, and then it got a little old and stale, but now it was just "what they did."

He looked forward to Saturday morning, when he and Jin were going fishing again. Jin still wasn't the world's greatest conversationalist, but that didn't mean he wasn't a good companion. Sometimes when you sat on the dock with a fishing pole, you preferred not to talk.

His favorite time of the week was Thursday nights. Then he'd split a six-pack of Dharma Beer with Juliet and play Battleship all evening. Sometimes they'd have plenty to say about past lives, hopes for the future, gossip about their co-workers. Other evenings, last night for instance, they could play for an hour and not say anything more than "D4;" "Miss;" "G5;" "Hit." "You just sunk my battleship!" she always exclaimed, just like in the commercial. It never ceased to make him laugh.

He was even beginning to know some of the "real" members of the Dharma Initiative, and liked them as well. Sure enough, there were some hotties among them, and he had to remind himself of the "Mrs. LaFleur" prophecy in Dan's journal. He patted himself on the back for his restraint. Nope, he was steering far clear of women.

Unfortunately, Horace had only just recently disrupted Sawyer's newfound equilibrium. Horace had been the security team's nominal supervisor, but he was ready to give up the responsibility. So earlier this week, he'd called Sawyer aside.

"Head of Security's been a vacant position since our last security boss ran into some mainland problems and was sent back to Ann Arbor. Jim, I've been watching you. You do good work, and I've spoken with Ann Arbor. We'd like you to take on the position."

Sawyer remembered quite clearly the words in Dan's journal. "LaFleur;" "wife;" "head of security." Damn, could that twitchy geek be right about this? No way. Not if Sawyer had anything to say about it. So he told Horace, "I appreciate that, boss, but I don't know if I'm ready to take that on. Thanks anyway, man."

Horace paused a beat before saying, "Well, I'm afraid it's not a choice. We need a new head of security and you're the man, like it or not."

"And if I refuse?" Sawyer asked.

"I can put you on Stu Radzinksy's crew. Think you'd like working for him?"

Sawyer chuckled. Not in a million fucking years would he want to work for Stu Radzinsky. Head of the security team? That actually wasn't such a bad deal. So maybe Dan's journal was right about _**that**_. It was just a reminder to be more on his guard around women.

So, a week into his life as head man on security, he found himself at lunch in the cafeteria. Miles sat next to him complaining about the new schedule Sawyer released that morning. He knew Miles would complain a blue streak, but would ultimately do what he was told. Across from Miles, Juliet had her head stuck in an auto repair manual. It had only taken her about a month to get a handle on the VW buses, and she was moving on to the Jeeps. If her Jeep studying was anything like the VW studying had been, he knew he had a few nights ahead where she'd toss the manual over to him in his bunk and say "Go ahead, quiz me on anything." He also knew that if he stumped her, she'd get pissed as hell. And that was pretty fun.

The seat directly across from him was empty, waiting on Jin's return from a grid search patrol. Unfortunately, the empty seat must have seemed like an invitation to Sheila, one of the D.I's teachers.

"Hey, Jim" she said, approaching the table, completely ignoring Miles and his endless complaining and Juliet and her auto-repair note taking. "Is this seat taken?" she gestured at the empty seat. She fluttered her eyelids in an unmistakable gesture of flirtation. Miles finally shut up.

"Yeah," Sawyer replied. "I'm afraid we're saving it for Jin."

"Well I wouldn't mind keeping it warm for him." Sheila was not to be deterred.

"I think he'll be here any minute." Sawyer gave no ground.

"Well, all right then. But I do have to ask if you wouldn't mind coming over to my cabin this afternoon. I've been having a problem with my stove, and was thinking you might be a good man to get the heat going again."

Wow. That was such an awful line it caused Miles to fake a cough-laugh and even roused Juliet from her "Front Axle Specifications" page. When Sawyer replied, "I'll send Phil over to see what he can do," Miles had to fake a harder cough-laugh and Juliet quickly ducked her head back to the fascinating drawing of axle attachments. It also, thankfully, sent Sheila off for good.

"You are a moron," Miles said as soon as she was out of earshot. "She was totally coming on to you, and you blew it."

"I realize she was coming on to me. I just ain't interested," replied Sawyer.

"Seriously, man? You could be getting it on with her right now, instead of sitting here at lunch with us," said Miles. Juliet looked up from her book and nodded in agreement.

Sawyer looked at both of them before responding. "I happen to enjoy your company." It was a sarcastic remark, but not entirely false.

"Bullshit!" Miles coughed.

"If this is about that 'Mrs. LaFleur' thing . . ." started Juliet before being interrupted by Miles.

"Dude, from what I heard, Shelia is NOT the marrying kind, if you know what I mean. You could be having a little afternoon delight RIGHT NOW."

"Ain't taking any chances, hot stuff," said Sawyer, hoping to end this right now.

"You think you'll _accidentally_ ask her to marry you?" Miles asked incredulously.

"Well," Juliet piped in, "you never know. What if in a moment of passion he lets it slip? 'Oooh, baby. Right there, yeah. It feels so good . . . will you marry me?'"

Miles cackled.

Heh. OK, that was pretty funny. Also . . . weirdly . . . really kind of hot. Sawyer shook his head to clear the cobwebs. This whole thing was getting under his skin, but no sense in letting the two of them know about it.

"OK, Abbott and Costello," he addressed his still laughing lunch companions. "Laugh all you want. But when I finally meet this mysterious Mrs. LaFleur? And start getting laid regular? I'll have the last laugh, and the two of you will have to find someone else to pick on."

Juliet looked kind of serious. "James, you have to let me know before you start getting, as you put it, 'laid regular.' You need to be careful, I can tell you about this Island . . ."

He cut her off. "Nuh uh. Nice try. But #1, I don't kiss and tell and #2, I ain't lettin' either one of _you_ get your jollies off of me and the Missus' sex life."

"I'm not joking around. It could really be dangerous. Pregnant women . . ."

Ooops. Shit. He wasn't really listening any more, but he knew he'd crossed a boundary. They'd talked about this more than once, and he realized how sensitive she was about it. The last thing he wanted to do was give her something else to worry about.

"OK, OK, I'll tell you when I start getting laid. I promise. You'll be the first to know."

"Thank you," she replied.

Miles now had his say. "LaFleur, you idiot, you could be getting laid _right now_ if you'd played it right with Sheila. And the least you could have done was let her sit with us. Maybe you aren't interested, but I wouldn't mind fixing her heat, if you know what I mean."

"Nah, man. I ain't taking any chances with women. I ain't 'fixing their heat,' I ain't spending alone time with them, hell, I ain't even sitting with them at lunch."

"No offense taken," said Juliet.

Huh? What had he just said that was offensive? He looked at her in question.

"I am a woman. I am sitting with you at lunch. Ergo, I am not offended that you would say you aren't sitting with women at lunch."

"Ah, you know what I mean," he said. "I ain't sitting with women I'd want to sleep with."

"Again, no offense taken," she responded.

Miles chipped in some helpful advice. "Dude, just stop talking."

"No," said Sawyer. "I can explain this one. I may not have particularly high standards when it comes to women, but I do have one simple rule: Do not sleep with anyone who tasers you the first time you meet."

"Fair enough," said Juliet.

"Bad rule, man," was Miles' response. "Half the women I've slept with Tasered me when we met."

Thank God, here came Jin. He waved him to his seat. "So, how did the search go?"

"No one," said Jin and began talking about his morning.

Out his other ear, Sawyer could hear Miles' and Juliet's ongoing conversation:

"So tell me, Miles. What's half of zero?"

"Huh?"

"You said half the women you'd slept with had Tasered you. I want to know what half of zero is."

"I'll have you know, I've slept with eleven women, thank you very much. If you aren't busy this afternoon, it can be an even dozen."

"Wow. That's a really romantic offer. Let me think – NO."

They were giggling over that absurd possibility, Jin was still patiently explaining all he had seen on his morning patrol. Sawyer had a position of prestige and responsibility. Seriously, why would he want to do anything to upset this balance?


	3. The Bet

**Wow! Thanks for the really nice reviews. I am grateful to you all, and everyone reading -- thanks for sticking with me and this story.**

Another five months down, and as much as Sawyer disliked change or anything to upset the nice little life he'd set up for himself, change had come – and more was coming. First and foremost, a new group of thirty recruits had arrived on the sub last week. And when the sub left for the mainland yesterday, it took Daniel with it. Twitchy and nervous though he was, he'd managed to spout off enough science mumbo jumbo to the right people to get added to the Ann Arbor science team. Maybe he could put his big brain to use there.

Sawyer had briefly worried that Miles, or even worse, Juliet, would take the opportunity to leave too. He'd tried to be extra nice to both of them, hoping his sunny disposition would sway their decisions, but that hadn't gone over particularly well. "What the hell's wrong with you, man? Hitting the wacky weed?" Miles had asked after being subjected to a day of happy, jovial Sawyer.

And for three days, he'd watched Juliet warily, trying to figure out what she was thinking – he was getting much better at reading her vast collection of blanked-out, expressionless faces, but wasn't perfect. So, he watched, and tried to keep his whole outlook merry and good humored.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" she asked.

"Like what?" he asked, trying for innocence.

"Like a too-happy host of a child's TV show. Stop it, Captain Kangaroo. It's creepy looking. And you can drop the nicey-nicey act while you're at it. I'm not taking the sub."

"Good to hear," he kept his voice as neutral as possible, as if he wasn't completely relieved.

"And Miles isn't leaving either, so you might as well stop creeping him out, too."

Thank God. He thought of himself, a little more than seven months ago, riding that helo off this damned rock. But it wasn't to be – and as much as it ripped his heart to shreds to say goodbye to Kate (and the others, too, if he was being completely honest), it was the right thing to do – so he jumped. The most selfless thing he'd ever done in his life. But at that moment he decided to jump? If some all-knowing entity had told him he'd be stuck here with only Jin, Miles, and Juliet for company? He would have held on for dear life. And Goddamn it, if that meant Hurley had to take one for the team, so be it. Because life with Jin, Miles, and Juliet? That would have sounded like a peculiar version of hell.

Jin was a great guy. But what was the point of living with a guy you couldn't even communicate with? Well, as it turns out, it's kind of a relief to have a friend who doesn't understand all the stupid-ass shit you say before thinking. Who judges you only on your actions, and doesn't realize that your command of your own language ain't the world's best.

As for Miles? Why would he have wanted to be stuck with someone so cynical? Someone always out for a quick buck? (A few weeks back Sawyer caught wind of one of Miles' latest schemes – for Miles, Jin, and Juliet to take bets on who the mysterious Mrs. LaFleur could be. Sawyer pretended he didn't know what Miles was up to, but was more than a little relieved when he also caught wind that Juliet had put the kibosh on that outlandish game). Why would he have wanted to be stuck with someone who complains about absolutely everything? He spent 24 hours a day with himself after all, and that was more than enough time spent with a cynical complainer on the lookout for a quick buck. But, the truth was, if you learned to listen hard enough, some of Miles' complaints were legit, and if you could separate the wheat from the chaff, Miles had some pretty good ideas in there. Plus, when push came to shove, Miles always shut his trap and did his part.

Juliet? Seven months ago he didn't trust her as far as he could throw her and doubted he could ever forgive her for who she was and what she and her people had done to him. But when you spend two of the most harrowing weeks of your life thinking that every minute you don't get struck by a flaming arrow or shot and killed or threatened with amputation was only just another minute closer to your death by brain hemorrhage . . . well, you start to get a good sense of what trust really means, and who you can count on to have your back when the chips are down. Besides, having now spent all this time actually getting to know her, he could no longer blame her for her life with the Others. Who wouldn't have done what she did in her situation?

The whole ordeal had been a lesson in open-mindedness. He'd been with the three of them more than half again as long as any of the other Oceanic 815 survivors, and now he couldn't imagine three better people to get stuck in 1974 with.

And that was exactly what dismayed him over the other changes apparent in his life. They would soon have their new housing assignment. They didn't know what they'd get. They hoped for two two-bedrooms, but figured they could make do with a single three-bedroom. Horace wouldn't clue them in – he didn't want to alienate the new recruits (currently lodged in a massive new bunkroom) by handing out housing assignments without getting to know them first . . . and that meant Sawyer's crew had to wait, too.

It disturbed Sawyer how much the other three were looking forward to the new digs. Sure, a kitchen would be nice, as would a little more privacy, but he didn't like change, and what they had going on right now seemed to be working just fine. Besides, how would he go to sleep at night without first seeing Juliet take her hair down from her pony tail and saying "'Night James, see you in the morning"?

The other three cared less than he did about accepting change, because they'd made genuine friends in the D.I. For amateurs, they were doing a fantastic job running this con, he had to admit. No one had slipped, not once had they been in danger of being found out, but they were not experienced at this and didn't know, like he did, that it wasn't wise to befriend their "marks." Furthermore, they weren't constantly on guard for the day when they were to meet their future (past? Whatever.) spouse. And he was still damned determined to prove Daniel wrong on that count.

Miles, unfortunately, seemed to be spending too much time with flirty, overtly sexual Sheila. Sawyer would grit his teeth and allow her to sit with them at lunch (as if he had a choice – she was, after all, Miles' "friend"). Even worse, Miles kept bringing her around the security office and would work on impressing her with the new security regimen Sawyer had implemented.

Hard to believe, but even more annoying was Juliet's insistence that Amy come to their most recent two Beer & Battleship Thursdays. That was his favorite part of the week! It was not to be messed with! Juliet always seemed to know when to talk to him and when to just shut up and play, and if Amy was around, they had to be extra careful with what they said. "Besides, Battleship is a two-player game!" he'd practically whined. So, she insisted they switch to Sorry!, and while he put on a good and friendly show for Amy, he silently fumed at Juliet for messing up a good thing. More than once he used his Sorry! cards to send her little blue men back to their "Start" circle. Juliet would just raise an eyebrow at him when he did, and that got under his skin, too. His moves kept her from winning, but they were bad for him strategically, and Amy ended up winning every game they played both weeks.

That said, it was almost worth it to hear Juliet spinning a great yarn about where she was when Neil Armstrong landed on the moon. In reality, it was two years before she was even born, but her story involved a pot-smoking cousin, a hairball-spewing cat, and a grumpy old man next-door neighbor messing with their antenna. Sawyer immediately set his mind to coming up with an even better story to tell regarding his memories of the JFK assassination.

But now here was Jin, with the absolute last straw.

"James, I would like you to meet Denise," he said, ushering a new recruit into the security office. Sawyer nodded at her. She was pretty – petite, with lots of curly dark hair. What the hell was Jin thinking? This is the same Jin who spent at least 10 minutes every night silently staring at the stars . . . thinking about his WIFE. And here he was squiring about a new recruit???

"Jin said I could see more of the island on some of your security cameras," she said.

Sawyer looked at Jin, bewildered. That was the lamest and most transparent pickup line since "Come up and see my etchings." It was disturbing on so many levels. Jin, so devoted to his Sun, should _not_ be macking on new recruits. And if he insisted on doing it, he might try being less ham-handed about it.

"But I have to go now," Jin was saying. "I have important work with Dr. Chang. Mr. LaFleur will show you around."

And before Sawyer could say anything, Jin was off. But he didn't have any important work with Dr. Chang. He had the afternoon off. What was this nonsense? Sawyer turned politely to . . .what was her name? "Denise," said her nametag . . . he turned politely to Denise and escorted her over to the bank of monitors. She smiled expectantly at him, and then it all became clear. Jin did this on purpose. "Excuse me, Denise, but now ain't the best time for a little tour. I gotta go pound on a Korean."

He headed straight for their bunkroom. He'd have to catch Jin before he went off fishing. Was Jin trying to set him up with this girl? He stormed in, and although he intended to yell at Jin in private, he was too angry to hold his tongue, even when he saw Miles sitting on the couch drinking a beer and Juliet at the sink brushing her teeth.

"What the fuck, man??? What was that all about? You tryin' to play cupid?" he yelled at Jin.

Jin looked at him, confused. His English was improving by leaps and bounds, and sometimes he played the confused foreigner when it suited him.

"Aw, stop playin' dumb, Jin Rummy, and answer the question."

"It was Miles' idea," answered Jin.

"To set me up with this new chick???"

"No . . . see we made a bet . . ." Jin answered.

Ah, fuck. The bet??? "I thought you put a stop to that," he turned now to Juliet, who had to spit out a mouth of toothpaste before answering, "Not exactly," while Miles simultaneously blurted "You knew about the bet???"

"Yeah, I knew. Don't know why y'all think you're so sneaky," he replied. Turning to Juliet he asked, "What's this 'not exactly' BS?"

"Well . . ." she started. She was clearly reluctant to continue. It actually tamped down his anger a little bit to see her so discomfited. Heh. He'd let her squirm for a little bit just for the fun of it.

But Miles went ahead and answered the question. "She said we should wait until the sub got here with new recruits. Then we'd have more 'candidates' to choose from."

"Yes, this was a good idea," Jin now chipped in.

"Only because you're the only one who chose a new recruit," Miles scoffed.

Wait . . . it was all becoming painfully obvious to him now. It wasn't just that they'd made this ridiculous bet – they were furiously promoting their picks, weren't they? It's why he rarely saw Miles without Sheila and was behind Juliet's sudden insistence on inviting Amy to game night . . .

"Sheila?????" Sawyer accused Miles. "Come on, I got better taste than that!"

"We've been here seven months, LaFleur," Miles answered. "I figured any day now you're gonna stop thinking with your big head and start thinking with the little one . . . and when that day comes . . . Sheila will be there waiting."

No kidding about that seven months thing. Lately, the weirdest things were tripping up his big head (and little one, too, he had to admit). He'd actually tossed out a bottle of Juliet's shampoo two weeks ago and then told her that he'd accidentally spilled it and not only that, "the D.I. doesn't make that kind anymore." Only because smelling her hair did funny things to him. The new shampoo she was using played the same tricks, but he held out hope that it was somehow the lingering scent of the old shampoo. It was the only thing that made sense and would be completely washed out soon enough.

And speaking of Juliet . . .

"Amy????????" he accused.

"Well, you know, you all both just lost someone you love. And you shot someone to save her life. It's all very romantic."

He checked himself from immediately scoffing at her silly romantic notions. Now that he knew her favorite books and movies he knew she was a romantic sap at heart. Even so, that was about as ridiculous a setup as he'd heard.

"We both lost someone we love? A little under a year ago?" he repeated. Juliet nodded. "And I shot someone to save her life?" Juliet nodded again. Sawyer rolled his eyes. "By your insane logic, I should fall in love with YOU."

"I knew it!!!" Miles exclaimed. "Didn't I say it when we were making our picks? I totally should have chosen you!"

"Why didn't you Miles?" Juliet asked.

"Well, because you scared me! You gave me that look like maybe lasers were going to shoot out of your eyes." He used both his index fingers to demonstrate, while making a "bweeeee bweeeeee" laser noise.

Before Miles and Juliet got into a knock-down, drag-out fight, Sawyer held up his hand to stop them, and turned to Jin. "And what's your story? What's with this Denise chick?"

"She looks like Kate," was Jin's simple response.

"Ooooooh. She _totally_ does," Juliet agreed.

"Are you two blind? She looks _nothing _like Kate," was Miles' input.

Sawyer had had enough, and stalked out the door, slamming it behind him. Let them debate whether this Denise looked like Kate. Did she? He closed his eyes and tried to imagine Kate before him, but the image wouldn't come. It had been seared into his brain. So many nights it was all he could think of. Where had it gone? He remembered the broad outlines, of course, the dark hair, the freckles, but he honestly couldn't say whether this Denise person looked like her or not.

The door opened behind him. It was Juliet, on her way back to work. "Sorry we made a game out of your life. It was immature."

He glared at her and grunted. She shrugged. "Just. . . I'm sorry. It won't happen again." She walked off.

Truth was, he wasn't really mad at them, although it didn't hurt if they all thought he was angry for a little while longer. But in reality? The whole thing was pretty damn funny. This was what made being stuck with them so easy. They'd taken the worst situation that could possibly be handed to them, and taken to it with a sense of adventure and humor. And maybe now he could convince Juliet not to bring Amy with her to Beer & Battleship Thursday. That would be something to look forward to again.

Even better? Despite their best set-up efforts, he hadn't fallen for a one. His plan to avoid women had been thwarted by his friends, but he'd still managed to steer clear of actually getting involved with any of them. He was confident he could do this. As long as he had anything to say about it, there would be no Mrs. LaFleur.

**Never trust anything I say, but I think this may be it for a little bit at least. I think I am going to finish my other story before returning to this one. Unless I am struck by magic inspiration with this one.**


	4. Juliet in Dharmaville

**Sorry this update has taken so long. Thanks (reluctantly) to those who have been erm . . . _bugging_ me about it. See, I didn't forget it! (Although I had hoped maybe to forget it, and hoped no one would notice). Anyway, I have two excuses: **

**1) I decided to focus on my other story until I got it to a real stopping place (and if you haven't read it – please do! Despite my moaning and groaning and gnashing of teeth and woe-is-me whining about it, I can say that now I am pleased with how it turned out. Fair warning: it's quite long). **

**And excuse #2) I have a near crippling obsession with having an ending. And with this story, I just don't. So, it is my equivalent of working without a net, and I do not like that. But, due to that, I haven't decided exactly where this goes NEXT, so instead we will just have a chapter that is Juliet's POV for all the time the first three chapters were already about. OK? (Which, durn it, meant I actually had to go back and _read_ them b/c I was like "What??? What's this all about?" And I _hate_ to read things I've written. The things I do. . .) So, anyway, this is me spinning my wheels while I try to figure something else out. Here we go . . .**

"Jim LaFleur: DI head of security for several years in mid-70s. Disappeared along with his wife under mysterious circumstances, 1977." So said Daniel's journal.

She couldn't decide if she was envious of James, or if she felt sorry for him. On the one hand – disappearing under mysterious circumstances? That sounded like some kind of time shift – maybe? Or whatever it was, "disappearing" meant he wasn't _here_. She'd give just about anything to know that at some point in time, she'd be off this Godforsaken island. On the other hand, 1977? That was three years from now! Maybe _he_ was stuck here until 1977, but the rest of them had a chance to get out before then, right?

But, then, why would they all leave before 1977, leaving James here? They wouldn't go without him, right? Why in the world would they leave him here? Maybe they were stuck until 1977 after all, damn it. Except . . "along with his wife . ." Of course! He would stay behind for this Mrs. LaFleur person. And Juliet, Dan, Miles, and Jin would try to convince him to go back to 2004 or 2005 or whenever, but he'd stay behind with his wife. Yes! That was it exactly! Problem solved. Now – how to get back to 2004?

"_You do realize it's 1974, that whatever it is you think you're going back to... it don't exist yet."_

This, she would have to concede, was correct. She'd been planning on staying only the promised two weeks, but then Horace stuck them for another 6 months. James had been right – what was the point in going back to 1974? If she wanted to get back to the right time, she'd have to stay here, and someone would have to figure it out.

Clearly, the person to figure it out was Daniel. Shattered, devastated, empty shell Daniel. Step 1 in her "back to the future" plan was to get Dan back on an even keel. She was the person to do it. Miles was too cynical; James and Daniel shared nothing but mutual disdain; Jin would be perfect if he could actually communicate. Too bad Charlotte wasn't around to translate. But if Charlotte _were _around to translate, Daniel wouldn't be such a mess.

It was Thursday night, and Juliet's plan was to pull Daniel aside, sit with him, and do something mindless. She'd found the perfect solution in the Dharma rec room – Battleship. Mindless – yes. Even better, it was only a two-player game, so even if Miles happened upon them, he couldn't beg his way into the game. Tonight, she'd just sit and play Battleship with Daniel. She'd keep it up as long as necessary, until he started feeling comfortable with her – even if it took playing Battleship with him for the rest of the year. That was the first step.

She tucked the game box under her arm and headed for their bunkroom. James was sitting on the front porch, legs resting on the porch rails, a beer can in his hand, and the five remaining unopened six-pack cans at his feet.

"Evenin', Admiral," he drawled, gesturing at the game.

"Hey," she blew on by him and into the bunkroom. Empty. "Seen Dan?" she asked, reappearing on the front porch.

"Nope." He took a long swig of beer. "Ain't seen him all day in fact."

She sat down next to him. "I was going to get him to play Battleship and try to earn his trust a little bit." She sighed deeply. She couldn't even get step 1 of her plan off the ground. "Gonna drink all those?" She gestured at the remaining beer cans.

"I'll share in exchange for a few rounds of Battleship," he said.

Well, hmmmmm. She really wanted a beer. Or two or three. But she wasn't sure she was in the mood for James and all his "Others this, Others that, How's life in New Otherton? Do you prefer to be called 'an Other' or 'a Hostile'?" BS. That wasn't entirely fair of her – she realized the absurdity of the situation, and from time to time even made fun of it herself. And James was surprisingly a really great companion when he wasn't trying to get her goat about her life with "The Others." Tonight, though? Tonight she wasn't in the mood for it. But those beers looked so good . . .

Two hours later, after who knows how many rounds of Battleship, after James had tracked down another six pack, after she finished her fourth beer, after he had finished his sixth, she realized, vaguely, through an alcohol-fuzzed daze, that he hadn't brought up The Others once.

"This is fun!" she laughed. "Growing up, my sister never wanted to play Battleship. She said it was a 'boys game,' and made me play with her Barbies. I always got to be Barbie's maid."

"Barbie's maid – BM," he chuckled, slurring his words just a bit. "Hey, BM, I just sank your battleship!" BM! She laughed, an honest, loud, whopper of a laugh. Oh geez. Potty humor. That was as good a sign as any that it was time to call it a night.

"All right. I think that's it for me," she said.

"We oughtta put this on the schedule. Thursday nights – beer and Battleship."

Yeah, maybe she could figure out another way to get Daniel to open up. Playing Battleship with James was too much fun to waste on mumbling Dan.

* * *

Life went on and they slowly but surely settled into the nine-to-five grind.

They'd all been shocked when Daniel got assigned to a construction crew at the Orchid. According to Locke, that was where "all this" had begun. That their resident time-travel expert was now working there had to be a good thing. Unfortunately, "Daniel's working at the Orchid" was about the extent of their knowledge of his doings there. While the rest of them had settled into a weird, familial companionship, Daniel came in and out of their lives like a ghost. He might come into their bunkroom, he might flip through his journal, he might mumble a few unintelligible things. They trusted he was working things out, but they worried, too, that he would blow their cover.

Because aside from Daniel, the rest of them were about as perfectly suited to living this lie as anyone possibly could be. James, as he had pointed out, was a professional. Jin didn't speak enough English to give away anything. Miles was a smooth operator who enjoyed a good lark. And Juliet? She'd had three years' worth of practice sublimating the "real" her. This was just more of the same -- only in a different time.

So, they lived their fake lives, and worked their fake jobs, and shared their fake histories. And they waited. Juliet's initial "back to the future" plan -- the plan to get Daniel up and operating again -- never really got off the ground. But if his assignment at the Orchid was any indication, maybe he was doing a good enough job of it himself. So, for the time being at least, the "back to the future" plan required no action on her part. And so she waited. Her job at the garage was taking up enough of her time, anyway. She'd had to pass both a practical and a written test on VW bus repair (and would move on to the Jeeps when she finished this), but she really didn't mind the studying. For the most part.

The night before her VW written test, she'd felt wholly confident.

"Here," she said, throwing her repair manual over to James in his bunk. "Ask me anything from this."

"All right," he consented. Then he spent minutes and minutes flipping through the book.

"It's not a novel," she said. "Just ask a question."

"I'm lookin'. Hold your damn horses. OK, what is the engine capacity of the 66 horsepower engine?"

She thought. They only had one 66 hp van. That was the #4 van. She had a mnemonic device to remember all these things. But what was it? Oh yes. "1.8 liters."

"Nope."

"Excuse me?"

"That ain't right. The 1.8 liter is the capacity of the 68 horsepower engine. Guess again."

"No, I'm sure I'm right. You don't know what you're talking about."

"That's true -- I don't know jack shit about any of this. But I can read, and right here on page 16, it's very clear. Look." He handed back the book. Damn. He was right. Maybe she wasn't ready for the big test. He was chuckling.

"What?" she asked, and it came out much more harshly than she'd meant it to.

"You." He kept chuckling. "It's one question. Don't sweat it. Give the book back, I'll ask another."

Maddening. He was smiling. Gloating. "Forget it," she huffed and stormed off.

* * *

She liked the guys, but she was getting more than a little tired of living with them. Like the time they were sitting on their porch and a handful of D.I. women walk by.

"Holy blue balls, Batman. I am so horny," he said.

She wanted to stuff her fingers in her ears and sing "la la la la la." She did not need or want to hear about this. But once he knew it bugged her, he'd make sure to bring it up a few times a week just to piss her off.

"Horny? What does this mean?" asked Jin.

"It means I want to have sex. I really, really want to have sex. We've been here for half a year, and I can't even get a woman to look twice at me. And it doesn't help that anytime someone might possibly be interested, LaFleur freaks out. He's so afraid of commitment, he even gets freaked if _**I**_ spend too much time with a woman."

"It's not that he's afraid of commitment, Miles," Juliet said. "He just doesn't want Daniel to be right about us having always been here."

"Well, aren't you insightful," Miles snarked. "Just so you know -- Daniel _**is**_ right. I'm sure of it. I'll lay you a bet that he's right."

"A bet?" Jin asked, interested.

"In fact, if I think long enough about it, I can even tell you who this mysterious Mrs. LaFleur is."

"OK," said Jin. Juliet chuckled. Jin was very competitive, and if anything involved a "winner," he was sure to be in on it. "Who do you think?" Jin asked Miles.

"Hmmmmmmm," Miles pondered.

"Any day now," Juliet prodded.

"Chill out. This is an important decision. What about you? You're so full of insight into his psyche."

"I don't know, I'd have to think about it," she answered.

"I don't mean who do you think it could be. I mean it could be you. You could be Mrs. LaFleur."

She glared at him. Jin was laughing. "That's absurd," she finally spat. Seriously.

"Well if it ain't the The Three Stooges." James appeared out of nowhere and walked up to them on the porch. They immediately fell silent. "What's the good news?" he asked. More silence and guilty stares. She hoped he didn't catch on that they'd been talking about him.

Jin saved the day by answering, "Miles says he is horny."

"No shit, Sherlock. Who the hell isn't?" James replied before walking inside the bunkroom, leaving the three of them to pick up their conversation.

"Sheila," declared Miles. "Only so long a man can go without scratching that itch, and from what I can tell, Sheila's the fastest way to getting some somethin' somethin'. He'll think he's just getting a fuck buddy, but Sheila will be Mrs. LaFleur. Mark my words."

That they could be so crude bothered her a little bit. That they had no compunction about being so crude right in front of her bothered her a lot. Being "one of the guys" was taking some getting used to.

* * *

If hearing about Miles' sex life (or lack of it) was disgusting, other aspects of living with a bunch of men were simply irritating. Like the time she was in the shower, hair totally wet, before she realized her shampoo had gone missing. She ended up using the guys' shared bottle. She felt totally defeated. She went to work every day in a pair of work boots and blue coveralls. Couldn't she at least retain one minor feminine touch? But, no, now even her hair was going to smell like a man's.

"What the hell happened to my shampoo?" she stormed, once clean, dry, and re-dressed.

"Oh, sorry," James confessed. "I spilled it. I was gonna replace it today, but didn't get a chance. I'll get it tomorrow."

Fine. Accidents happen. But the next day he returned with a completely different kind of shampoo. "This isn't the kind I like," she said, disappointed.

"I know, but they don't make that kind anymore. Sorry," he said.

Fine. At least he tried. But when she went to the commissary two days later, she found five bottles of the correct shampoo.

She was so tired of living with men. James' heart was in the right place, but he was completely incapable of telling one shampoo from the next. Maddening.

* * *

Now, though, she had something to look forward to. The sub was coming next week. It meant that soon they'd get their new living accommodations. THANK GOD. She really was at the end of her rope. She didn't care how it worked out. They talked a lot about what arrangements they'd get. If they got two two-bedrooms, who'd live where? What if they had to share a three-bedroom? She could care less. She'd be out of this stifling bunkroom. She could have a nice, tidy little house.

The sub's arrival also meant Daniel was leaving for Ann Arbor. That had to be progress, right? They all wondered.

She realized, though, that she didn't have to sit idly by, waiting for Daniel to come up with something in Ann Arbor. She could take the "back to the future" plan into her own hands. About a month ago, she'd befriended Joe -- "Engineer," according to his coveralls. He'd come into the garage, returning a van, and she overheard him talking about the Orchid – the key to everything, she was sure. So, she casually struck up a conversation with him. Sure enough, he was supervising some of the construction work going on there. Fearful of seeming too interested in this, she'd filed it away, and then kept a sharp eye out for Joe. And, sure enough, how convenient! She happened to run into him in the cafeteria a few times a week and just happened to stay late at work when she knew he would be returning a vehicle.

Lucky for her, Joe's company was enjoyable. He had a degree from M.I.T. and was, like her, a lover of opera and some of the finer things in life she missed so much. He'd been with Dharma for just under a year. Just this time last year, he'd been to a Boston Pops concert. Last Christmas, he'd been in New York for the New York City Ballet's production of The Nutcracker. Her heart ached for all the things she'd missed. And here she was, a grease-stained wretch. When she didn't work at the garage, she lived with a bunch of men, and the highlight of her week was playing a 'boys' game' (Rachel had been right about that, she had slowly come to realize) and drinking too much beer straight from the can.

And then one night, over dinner, Joe was talking about the time his car broke down on Cape Cod. "Mechanics on the Cape aren't as good looking as they are here," he slipped in, and winked.

He was flirting with her! She felt so flattered. She should just flirt right back. It would be a lot easier getting some information out of him if he thought he could get her into bed. But . . . it would just be more lies, she realized. Flirting with him would be a total act. She'd missed her opportunity to flirt right back at him, because, maybe embarrassed at his forwardness, he glossed right over that little remark and went on talking.

"_What the hell is wrong with you_?" she thought, as he continued telling about summers on the Cape. He was just her type – neat, clean-cut, sophisticated. And nice looking! He was gesturing now with his hands, so neat, soft, and well-manicured. Lovely hands. And . . . nothing doing. He was absolutely perfect for her, and she felt absolutely nothing for him. She sat, exasperated, trying desperately to stoke the fires of attraction.

By the time dinner ended, she was completely down in the dumps. She was now officially one of the guys. A smart, nice, good-looking man flirting with her, and she couldn't even muster the attraction necessary to fake flirting back.

Her return to the bunkroom did nothing to lighten her sour mood. As soon as she flung open the door, she heard Miles let loose with a loud belch. He didn't even apologize. Why should he? She was just one of the guys. She could hear Jin in the bathroom honking his nose into a tissue. OK, he'd been sick, but even so . . . Gah! Men! She couldn't handle this much longer. She sat down on her bed and began taking off her boots, tearing at her shoelaces, as if this were somehow their fault.

"Someone's in a mood," noted James, from his bunk. She just glared back at him. "Maybe I can cheer you up," he added.

What? What could he _possibly_ say to cheer her up? She imagined a naughty joke. That sounded about right. She was so tired of pretending to be one of the guys. She didn't want to hear it. She took down her ponytail, and ran her fingers through her loose hair. Instead of getting on with his crude joke or whatever it was he thought was going to "cheer her up," James just stared. Great, she thought. Did she have something in her teeth? Grease on her forehead? Limp and dirty hair? Whatever. Did it even really matter? She was gross and disgusting and unfeminine, and she didn't need him staring at the grease in her hair to remind her of that. Maybe she should just fake it with Joe. A night or two away from this testosterone shack couldn't hurt.

"What?" she finally asked him. Stop staring and get on with it, she thought.

He shook his head, and thankfully stopped his staring. He reached under his pillow. "Here," he said, holding out a copy of _Little House on the Prairie_. "I found this when we were cleaning out the school room. I know you said Plum Creek was your favorite, but I didn't find that one. I'll keep an eye out, though."

She was shocked. How long ago had they talked about Little House? How had he remembered? Well, imagine that -- she _was _cheered up. She reached to take the book from him, and for the briefest of seconds, their fingers touched. And there is was – a little sizzle. The jolt of electricity she'd tried so hard to generate at dinner tonight with Joe.

James cleared his throat. "You gotta give it back when you're done, but maybe I'll track down Plum Creek before you finish it." The last fifteen seconds had left her a little stunned. She smiled at him, and he smiled back like the cat that ate the canary.

"Cheered up?" he asked.

Yes, she was. Maybe this wasn't so bad after all. Maybe living here and sleeping three feet from him (and OK, 4 feet directly under Jin, and 6 feet from Miles) wasn't as bad as she was making it out to be.

"Yeah, I am. Thanks a lot," she answered.

"Good. 'Cause now I have to confess, I'm such a klutz. I spilled your shampoo again. And they really are out of that kind you like now."

Drat. He'd just been buttering her up so she wouldn't kill him when she had to go back to using their nasty-smelling Dharma Initiative Head and Shoulders knock-off.

* * *

Boy, was he mad. OK, betting on Mrs. LaFleur had been a stupid idea (for which she placed the blame squarely on Miles' shoulders). But when he'd discovered their little game two days ago, she'd apologized, genuinely and profusely. Yet he was still grumpy and ill-natured. That didn't mean they didn't play Battleship, but it did mean they sat there drinking and fuming. She took actual pleasure in sinking his ships. Normally the game was just an excuse to drink and spend time together, but tonight she really wanted to win.

Several rounds in, though, she'd had enough of his silent treatment. "If you're waiting for me to apologize again, you're going to be waiting an awfully long time," she said. He merely grunted. "Besides, if you weren't such a baby about the whole Mrs. LaFleur situation, we wouldn't take so much pleasure in making fun of you. Geez, lighten up a little. How bad could it be, anyway? There are a lot of nice people here if you took the time to get to know them."

"You mean like Joe?" he asked.

"Joe?" she repeated.

Harmless, perfect, enjoyable Joe. Despite a depressing lack of interest in Joe, two weeks ago she'd finally managed to finagle an invitation to the Orchid out of him. Only to have it rescinded the very next day when Joe came stammering into the garage. He'd "misread the situation," apologized for being too forward, and hoped he hadn't "stepped on any toes." He'd "had a talk with Horace," who "explained everything." And the best she could figure is it was Joe's clumsy and roundabout way of saying the Orchid was strictly off-limits to folks who didn't work there. And Joe's nervous demeanor made it perfectly clear that his "talk with Horace" must have been mighty one-sided. It actually made her chuckle to think of Horace reaming someone out.

So the "back to the future" plan had hit a dead end as far as Joe was concerned. And, yes, if she hadn't been attracted to him in the first place, it was even less attractive to see him so anxious, sweaty, and spluttery after one strong talking-to from _Horace_, of all people. Even so, she felt somewhat defensive of her friend now that James was in on the act.

"Yeah, _Joe_," James was even mocking his name. "I'll tell ya why I think these people get wiped out. They're too jumpy and nervous. Let's face it -- Dan fits right in. No wonder they let him on their team. This Joe fella, I meet him one time and he's all stammering and apologizing and nonsense. I was like, 'Whatever, man.' I mean, I ain't never even talked to the guy and he's apologizing. For what the hell, I'd like to know?"

"I'm not sure, but I think Horace chewed him out pretty bad for inviting me to the Orchid. I'm guessing he thought the 'Head of Security' was going to do the same."

"He was gonna take you to the Orchid?" he asked.

"Well, from what I gather, Horace ixnayed that," she answered.

"Good for Horace!"

"Don't you think it's a way out of here? Out of now? Don't you think we should know more about that place? Why in the world is it good that Horace axed the idea?"

"It's just so sexual," he said with obvious disdain.

"It's a greenhouse with weird time-travel properties. What is even _remotely _sexual about it?" she asked.

"It's all in the name. 'The Orchid.' It's just so Georgia O'Keeffe."

"Georgia O'Keeffe???"

"Yeah, she's this artist chick, who painted all these flowers that looked like women's . . ."

"Thanks for the art appreciation lesson," she interrupted. "I know who Georgia O'Keeffe is. It's just. . ."

"You're surprised _**I **_know who she is, right?"

Well, that was just the thing. She'd long ago stopped being surprised by all the things he knew. High brow, low brow . . . didn't matter. He knew that Mr. Edwards delivered Mary and Laura's Christmas presents when the river flooded. He knew Edward R. Murrow reported the blitz from London rooftops. He knew Aaron Copland used the Quaker hymn "Simple Gifts" in _Appalachian Spring_. He knew Skippy was the neighbor with the crush on Mallory in _Family Ties_. He knew Dan Marino held the record for touchdown passes in a season. He knew Celine Dion was married to some "creepy old dude."

It made her uneasy, how much he knew, how easily he could talk about anything. He was undeniably attractive. She doubted there was a straight woman alive who could argue that position. She considered herself lucky that she could just be his friend. She'd never even remotely been interested in the ignorant hick bad boys who'd populated her high school days. Guys who couldn't speak proper English. Guys who used "ain't" and spoke in double negatives. Guys who considered education "beneath" them. James was one of these guys, and that easily set up a wall between "friend" and "someone she might actually be interested in." But every day, it was something new. Today it was a knowledge of Georgia O'Keeffe. Yesterday it had been a raucous and detailed (and entirely fake) tale of his memories of the JFK assassination. Who knew what it would be tomorrow? He _**wasn't**_ an ignorant hick, and she feared greatly that the wall between "friend" and "something more" seemed to crumble a brick at a time with each little bit of knowledge he revealed.


	5. Meet Mrs LaFleur

Looking back on it – the most important day of his life – he was at times astonished to remember how typically it all began, and how surprisingly content he was at the end of it.

Another day, another morning putting out silly Dharma fires. A drunk sub crew member drying out in the cell. Jin off searching grids. Juliet out doing whatever it was she did in the garage all day. Miles chattering about how stupid one of Horace's new regulations was. This was one of those times when Miles actually had a point. Sawyer made a mental note to bring the issue up with Horace. Not much going on today. Maybe he'd do a patrol this afternoon.

Horace walked in to the security office and addressed Sawyer and Miles. "I have good news, gentlemen," he announced.

"You're cancelling that new reg where we have to sign in at the cafeteria?" Miles asked hopefully.

"Uhm, no," Horace answered. "Better than that, actually. Got your houses ready to go. Jin and Juliet around? Want to come see?"

"Jin's on patrol," answered Sawyer. He jerked a thumb at Miles. "Go get Juliet."

"Sure thing, boss," Miles was off like a shot.

"Meet us at the swingset," Horace called after him.

Five minutes later, Miles caught up to them there. "She's taken a Jeep on a test ride."

"Well," said Horace, "We can wait for them, or I can just show you two around."

Sawyer and Miles agreed to option number two, and they set off to look at their new homes. Falling in line behind Horace, Miles grinned back at Sawyer. Sawyer knew how much they were all looking forward to more space, more privacy, real homes, but he still dreaded the change for reasons he couldn't quite put a finger on.

"So, here we are," Horace announced. "You all will be neighbors, hope you don't mind." He winked. They were a tight-knit little group, and of course they didn't mind. They entered the first house. Nice. Miles and Sawyer both smiled and nodded at the nicely furnished and appointed home. It had cheesy 1970s décor, but it beat the bunkroom. They walked down the hall to the bedrooms. Or, bedroom, as it turned out, for this was a one-bedroom. A single bed against each wall.

Horace addressed Miles, "Two twins. If you guys would prefer a bunk bed, you'll have to wait. Or we can move a bunk in from your current accommodations."

"Whatever . . ." Miles trailed off, glanced at Sawyer, who shrugged. They'd all gone back and forth and back and forth again on who was going to live with who. Miles certainly didn't want to make this bed assignment decision on his own. Out of Horace's earshot, Sawyer muttered to Miles, "We'll get it figured out."

"You guys coming?" Horace asked, already out the front door.

The next house looked an awful lot like the first. This one had more cheesy macramé on the walls, less shag carpeting on the floor, but otherwise, pretty much the same. Sawyer began to think house assignments were going to come down to who preferred shag carpet over cheesy macramé.

Until they got to the bedroom. No twins against opposite walls in this one. No bunk beds, either. Just a double. Miles walked in first. He was scratching his head and screwing up his face. Sawyer didn't know it, but crossing the threshold to this bedroom was the minute his whole life changed. If he had known it, maybe he would have thought something more profound than "Miles looks a little like a ventriloquist's dummy when he's confused." Not to say he wasn't confused, too.

"Uhmmmm. . ." he started.

Horace, oh-so-proud of himself, was already talking. "Figured you and Juliet were really looking forward to some privacy. . . " He trailed off as Sawyer's and Miles' befuddled looks registered. Horace got very wide-eyed. "Don't tell me you guys aren't together. Oh, my. Did I misinterpret?"

This would be the proper place for Sawyer, Miles, or both, to laugh and to shout "Oh my God, yes! Yes! You have misinterpreted!" But they didn't. They were, at this stage, still reeling from such a crazy notion. So Horace kept on.

"It's just . . . you all are together so much. And, Jim, no offense, but after you gave the cold shoulder to almost every woman here, we just sort of figured . . . Thought maybe you two were trying to be subtle about it. . . Thought maybe your shipping company frowned on married couples or something . . ."

Miles and Sawyer still weren't talking. So Horace kept on. "If I'm offbase, I'm sorry . . . we can put Juliet here, and you three guys in the other house."

This was the first thing to jar Miles from his dumbfounded ventriloquist dummy look. He looked desperately at Sawyer. He was shaking his head, and if that didn't get the message across, he began to slash his finger across his throat. Truth be told, Sawyer wasn't too keen on shacking up in a tiny one-bedroom with Miles and Jin, either. And, well, that couch out in the living room looked comfy enough. He could convince Juliet to take turns on the couch.

Horace didn't notice Miles' desperate gesticulations. Sawyer found his voice.

"Ha ha," he started uneasily. "Here we were thinking we were being so sneaky, and y'all were on to us the whole time." Miles was now nodding encouragingly and approvingly. Oh hell, thought Sawyer, I'm the best liar you ever met, Miles, this ain't nothin'.

Horace smiled, relieved. "All right," he said. "You gave me a scare for a bit there." They all walked toward the front door, and out to the house's front porch. Horace continued, "Well, listen, you all can just move your stuff, such that it is, first chance you get. Welcome home." With that, he walked off.

Sawyer turned to Miles. The only appropriate way to describe Miles' current condition was "vibrating." He was practically vibrating with excitement. He was doing everything outside of jumping up and down. "Can I tell her? Huh? Please let me tell her?"

Sawyer didn't have to ask "Tell who what?" He knew "her" was Juliet and "what" was that as far as the Dharma Initiative knew, she was Mrs. LaFleur. He glared at Miles, who was still grinning and buzzing with anticipation.

"Hell, man," Sawyer growled at him. "I'll tell her. She's my wife, after all." He rolled his eyes at the absolute insanity of that sentence. Miles laughed.

"All right, but I gotta be there when you do. See, I have this theory. You know that saying, 'if looks could kill'? See my theory is that she actually _can _kill you with a look. Or, well, at least inflict physical harm. This? This is an _excellent _opportunity to test my hypothesis. I can't wait!"

Sawyer just scowled at him out of the corner of his eye. Truth was, how was he going to tell her? "It's really not all that bad. It's not that big a deal," he could picture himself pleading/whining. Seriously, though. It was more space than they lived in now -- and that space had to be shared. They'd have _plenty_ of personal space. They could alternate couch sleeping, and so what if people thought they were married? Actually, he thought, that was kind of cool. She was a lot better looking than anyone else here. Smarter, too. How cool that Horace and the rest of the D.I. thought _she'd_ be married to _him_? Not bad, he thought. But then . . . crap. A dawning realization -- Dan was right. Had been all along, and all his attempts to avoid this fate? They hadn't mattered one bit. In fact, they'd kind of backfired.

Miles interrupted his thoughts. "Well, that's ironic, isn't it? You try so hard to give allllllll the women here the cold shoulder that they get the wrong idea about you." Sawyer acknowledged with a grumble. Miles continued, "It's like by trying to prevent something, you actually caused it. Huh. I'll have to remember that."

Sawyer began rubbing his right cheek with his left hand. This was a dilemma. The actual arrangements weren't that bad. Telling her about it, though. . . and here came her Jeep right now.

"Oh boy! Here she is!"

"Shut it, Miles."

She hopped out of the Jeep and over to them. "Horace says we get our houses today!" She was clearly excited by the prospect.

Miles grinned like an idiot. "Yeah, about that," started Sawyer.

She interrupted. "Is this one of them?" she asked, gesturing at the house behind them. Well, clearly. They were standing on its front porch. She blew right by them, into the house. They followed. She looked around the living room and kitchen, smiling. "The macrame..." she trailed off, shuddered, and laughed. "A nice period touch, don't you think?" The guys nodded.

"So," Sawyer began again, but she was off down the hall. "Hey, Juliet . . ." he called.

"Tell her, tell her, tell her," Miles muttered under his breath.

She was at the door to the bedroom. She turned to them. "How many houses are we getting? Do we each get our own house? Who's living here?"

She walked back down the hallway toward them. "Well, see, I been tryin' to tell ya," Sawyer started. "We are."

She looked as if she smelled something bad. "**_We_** are? **_All_** of us? We **_all_** have to live here?"

He chuckled. "No, not **_all_** of us. Just you and me."

Miles avidly looked back and forth between them.

"I'm not sure I understand," she started.

Sawyer cleared his throat. "Well, see, the thing is. . . it's just, well . . . there's been a misunderstanding . . ."

"Horace and the rest of them think you two are married!!" shouted Miles. "Sorry," he then mumbled as Sawyer menacingly glared at him, and Juliet looked at him like he was off his rocker.

"James?" she questioned. "Is that true? What Miles is saying?"

Thousands of lies zoomed through his mind. He could lie his way out of this. But, no. "Yeah, it's true. Look, I'm not sure it's such a bad thing. There's plenty of room here. We can alternate on the couch." She looked skeptical and still a little flabbergasted. He continued. "Come on, you can't tell me you ain't never heard of a marriage where the wife kicks the husband to the couch."

Something changed in her expression. She was no longer sporting the slack-jawed, "I can't believe what I'm hearing" look. Something flickered in her eyes. Sadness? Regret? What was . . .

"I hear we have our houses now!" it was Jin at the front door. "Is this our house? Who is living here?" Miles, Juliet, and Sawyer all turned to look at him.

"James and I are living here. You and Miles are living next door," Juliet answered. Sawyer looked at her. Now her expression was resolute, mind made up. No more slack-jawed incredulity. No more sadness (or whatever that had been). Just, all business, let's not argue about this any longer.

Sawyer found his voice, "Hey, if you're not sure, we can work something out, explain to Horace . . ."

"It'll be fine," she stated. _Fine_. Women said that all the time when they meant "It'll be anything but fine," or they said it when they meant, indeed, it would be fine. They always made sure to say it just so you'd know what they meant. But damn if he could tell how she meant it. Maybe she really meant it would be fine. Maybe she meant the opposite. For someone who considered himself an expert on women and what they wanted, what they were feeling, and what they meant when they said something, he found it unnerving how often she had him completely stumped.

So, that was that. The decision had been made. Now they all had to get back to work in their crazy 9-to-5, cogs-in-the-Dharma-wheel existence. Sawyer had nothing much to do, so midway through the afternoon, he headed over to their bunkroom to pack up. Everything he owned fit into a small box. He chuckled. Now he had a whole house, with furniture, books, dishes. His small box of paperbacks, jumpsuits, underwear, and toiletries looked kind of lame. He saw a similar box on Miles' bed. He must have come over and boxed his stuff up earlier in the afternoon. Jin's stuff was completely gone, so he figured Jin was already moved out. Juliet's stuff was gone, too.

He was actually glad they were moving one by one. He could imagine himself getting a little too sentimental if they all moved out at the same time. He was going to miss their close quarters, odd as that seemed. Although, truth be told, he was glad Juliet was going to be his roommate. In all their discussions about room assignments, he'd never pressed for that outcome. The last thing he wanted to do was to come off as the skeezy guy wanting to live with the hot chick. But the thing was, he just liked her better than the two guys.

And, damn . . .to no longer have this "Mrs. LaFleur" thing hanging over his head. THAT was a relief! He could still do beer and Battleship Thursdays with Juliet without Mrs. LaFleur getting jealous over it. He could come home at night and be himself, not "Jim LaFleur, former ship captain." That, he had to admit, had really scared him. Getting married, and then having to keep the con up 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. At least with his gang in the bunkroom, he got to come home and take a few hours off. They all did. And now that he was still going to be living with one of his gang, he still had those blessed hours off. When he could just be himself for awhile, and not have to self-censor every single cultural reference for timeframe appropriateness.

So, he brought his box over to his house, and set to work thinking on his next dilemma: how he was going to sleep in that bed more than his fair share. He'd do the "right" thing tonight and let her have it. Beyond, that, though, damn if he was going to do the gallant thing. They could alternate days or alternate weeks, but what he'd really like to do is figure out a way to trick her into sleeping on the couch as often as possible. He kept his mind on this dilemma as he put his things away. That took him less than five minutes, so he spent the rest of the afternoon exploring his new digs – a fully stocked fridge and pantry, tons of books on the shelf. Damn, these Dharma people were all right. He started flipping through a paperback, with no feel for passing time. The front door opened.

"Honey, I'm home!" It was Juliet. She flopped down on the couch. "What's for dinner, dear?" she asked.

He was insanely glad she could joke about this. Maybe when she said it would be "fine," she really meant it. He reciprocated. "Well, _sweetheart_, I don't know. I was waiting for my wife to come home and fix up a little something for her man."

She rolled her eyes. "Do you cook at all?" she asked.

He stared at her for a beat. "Very, very little," he answered honestly.

"Can you clean?"

"That I can do," he admitted.

"All right then. I actually like to cook, so you're in luck. But I swear, if I have to wash a single dish . . ."

"Deal," he conceded, quickly. Cleaning could be a pain in the ass, but cooking involved all sorts of things, including trying to answer that infernal, constant question "What are we eating tonight?" No, cleaning was easy. And while they were laying the ground rules . . . "So, I been thinkin' about sleeping arrangements," he started.

"Go on."

"I think it's fair we just alternate. So, I'll take the bed on odd-numbered days, you can take even," he offered.

She paused, mulling over his offer. Presently she answered, "No deal."

"No deal??? What's wrong with it? Seems fair to me."

She said, "On months with 31 days, you get the bed two days in a row. Not fair."

Damn. He'd spent the afternoon coming up with that boondoggle. Now she figures it out in a few seconds flat. How the hell was he supposed to pull anything on her?

"Every other week?" She offered.

"No way. I ain't sleepin' on that couch a week straight."

"Nightly rock, paper, scissors?"

Now that seemed promising . . . He was good at that game. You just had to be able to read people's tendencies, learn their "tells." It was a good bit like poker in that respect. He regarded her closely, realizing that she was probably pretty damn good at the game as well. He'd take the odds. Nightly rock, paper, scissors it was.

"Now woman," he commanded. "Get up off your ass and fix me my dinner!"

She flipped him the bird, and he chuckled. But she did get up, washed up, and fixed what was easily the best meal he'd had since crashing on this damn rock. He was feeling pretty good about himself and his situation until dinner ended, and he entered the kitchen. Jesus Christ, it was an absolute wreck. Had she used every pan in their cabinets? Every possible dish?

She poked her head around the corner. "Have fun cleaning up, James."

He flipped her the bird, and she winked. But he did clean up, as promised, even though he was quite certain she'd transformed the kitchen into a disaster zone on purpose.

They had a nice evening going through the books on their shelves, poking around their new cabinets and drawers. They negotiated the evening bathroom routine, and ended up brushing their teeth at the sink together. This wasn't bad at all.

Even though they did best-two-of-three, she easily won their inaugural rock, paper, scissors match-up, and by 10:30, he was lying, relatively comfortably, on the couch. The house was small, and the bedroom door was open. Therefore, he heard her make a big deal of how comfortable the bed was. "It's so spacious! And not lumpy at all! Ahhhhhhh! I'm going to have such a _wonderful_ night's sleep!"

"Yeah, yeah. Shut it, Blondie. I just let you win tonight. Enjoy it while you can."

He settled back on the couch cushions. It was marginally lumpy, but all in all, not bad. Not bad at all.

"Not how I imagined I'd be spending my first night of married life," he called out.

She didn't respond. Oh, that's right, he thought. She did, once upon a time, have a "first night of married life." She'd told him nothing but bad things about her ex. But maybe, way back when . . . maybe things had been all right, good and happy, even. Was she remembering that now?

"Did you ever love him?" he called out.

No immediate response. Then she answered, so it was clear she knew exactly what he was talking about. "Yeah, I did. I did love him. But you know what? I'm not sure I ever _liked_ him."

He remembered the odd look in her eyes when he'd first mentioned sleeping on the couch this afternoon. "How long did you make him sleep on the couch before you finally kicked him to the curb?"

"I never made him sleep on the couch. What makes you ask that?"

Either she was lying or he'd misread her look this afternoon. Damn, he'd never figure her out. He answered, "You just looked funny when I said something about it this afternoon."

No answer from her for an extended period. Finally she called, "'Night James, I'll see you in the morning." Conversation over, in other words. Ahhhhh, but that "Night James, I'll see you in the morning"? That's what he couldn't stand to do without.

* * *

Why had she never bounced Edmund to the couch? Probably because he never would have stood for it, and she was too much of a ninny to stand up for herself. No, he would never have agreed to be inconvenienced, uncomfortable. Instead, finally at the end of her rope, one day she packed a few bags and set up residence in Rachel's guestroom. He didn't seem to care one bit. Probably glad to be rid of her, in fact.

No, husbands sleeping on the couch – that was reserved for men who still held some modicum of respect for their wives, or for their marriage. Men like Goodwin. He was who she was sadly reminded of this afternoon.

She thought she did a good job of keeping her deepest feelings masked. She'd share them when she wanted to, and oddly enough, had shared them, had _wanted_ to share them, with James more often than she ever expected to over the last half year. But she did it on _her terms_, when _she_ wanted to. But James saw right through that. She thought she'd managed to keep a poker face when he first said, "you can't tell me you ain't never heard of a marriage where the wife kicks the husband to the couch." Or if she hadn't, she'd not allowed any emotion to show for more than a brief second. Damn. For someone who considered herself an expert on masking her emotions, hiding her feelings until she was ready to show them, she found it unnerving how often he had her figured out completely.

That night she luxuriated in the big bed, crisp sheets, no chance of being woken by Miles' snoring. She was comforted to think of James out on the couch. Their tiny little bungalow. How the Dharma Initiative had gotten the wrong idea. Yes, indeed, no wonder these people get wiped out – they were absolutely clueless about some things.

In their first weeks of "married life," they tiptoed around each other, setting clear rules and guidelines, just to keep everything neat and tidy. If you lost the bed, you got the bathroom first in the morning. She cooked, he cleaned. At night, he sat in the armchair to read, she sat on the sofa. They were almost fanatical, she realized, in avoiding physical contact.

More than once in those early days a stray thought crossed her mind: "Let's quit dancing around this." Geez, he was good looking. And it had been a _long time_ . . . And he was comfortable and fun and, well her husband. Or, more accurately, "husband." But more important than that, he was her best friend, and that was the relationship she didn't want to risk. As far as men went, her track record was pretty lousy. Get involved with a guy, make poor decisions, lose yourself in the process.

The day Roger and Ben Linus showed up in Dharmaville, she was so happy she'd never given in to her "Let's quit dancing around this" notions. There he was – the person who'd made her life a living hell for three years. Who'd condemned her to this crazy mechanic/wife of Jim LaFleur life. Just a kid. A nice enough, if awkward and gloomy, kid.

When she first saw him at indoc, she felt sorry for the self-conscious, too-smart-for-his-own good adolescent. Oh, how she knew the feeling. So, she introduced herself with a big smile and hearty handshake. "Hi, I'm Juliet." His eyes lit up, he blushed, then smiled back at her. She laughed inwardly, thinking the poor fellow didn't get a whole lot of female attention. "I'm Ben Linus," he finally stammered.

She wasn't sure what kept her from fainting dead on the floor right then and there. She'd felt on edge and out of sorts the rest of the day. When she got home that night, she couldn't wait to spill the whole story to James. And to repeat stories she'd already told him more than once. He listened patiently, and when she finally couldn't hold it in anymore, she just sobbed. What a waste the last 4 years had been, what had become of her life, how much she missed home.

He held her, and she didn't question his motives. She had nothing to hide. If she'd been sleeping with him, there's no way she would have felt so comfortable spilling her guts. She'd do whatever she could to keep him from getting too close. To see how vulnerable she really was. Instead, she didn't have to worry. No lies, nothing to hide. For the first time since she'd shown up on Rachel's front porch with her bags packed and finally laid bare the horrible truth of her imploding marriage, she just let loose with a torrent of worries, regrets, and vulnerabilities. Men you slept with were nothing but trouble. Having a friend like this was the best comfort she'd ever had.

* * *

More than once in those early days a stray thought crossed his mind: "Ah, fuck it." God damn, she was hot. And it had been a _long time_ . . . And she was comfortable and fun and, well his wife. Or, more accurately, "wife." But more important than that, she was his best friend, and that was the relationship he couldn't risk. As far as women went, his track record was non-existent. Get involved with a woman, get her to trust you, take her money, and get out. He really had no clue how to do much more than that. He'd given it a go with Kate, but the whole thing had just made him feel vulnerable, uncomfortable, and uneasy.

The day rumors of a breach of the truce with The Hostiles became topic #1 on everyone's tongue, he knew he'd made the right decision to ignore his "Ah, fuck it," fantasies. They stayed up half the night coming up with a plan. She filled him in on everything she knew about Others hierarchy, plans, strategies, history. The next morning, she'd driven him out to parley with Richard Alpert. She'd stayed hidden in the bushes, but he knew she was there. The knowledge she'd imparted came in handy, as he once again managed to blow Alpert's mind with his superior knowledge. And just knowing she was back there with her gun gave him the confidence to press the issue further. Crisis averted. Once again, he returned to Dharmaville as the hero who'd laid down the law with The Hostiles.

If he'd been sleeping with her, there's no way that would have worked. First, it was an assumption of massive proportions to think they'd still be together. Seriously, what was the longest real relationship he'd had with a woman? No, they would have been on the outs by now, and he wondered if he could have been 100% sure of the information she was feeding him. Or, if she would have even bothered to do so. And on the ridiculous, remote chance that they would have been able to stretch their "relationship" past the 3-month mark? Well, then there's no way he would have let her join him on his little mission. He'd have felt protective, worried, or whatever B.S. it is that men feel around the women they loved.

No, this was infinitely better. For the first time that he could even remember, he had someone he could trust completely and could rely on to always be there. Women you slept with came a dime a dozen. Having a friend like this was beyond price.

**So, I'm working on my other story, too, but I also have a work trip coming up first week of November, so it's possible it'll be awhile before the next update. We'll see, but I do already have an idea in mind, so there WILL be an update.**


	6. The Sex Chapter

**Hey, good news! I was struck with the inspiration to get this part done, so this update is coming a good bit sooner than I expected. Also, fair warning: this one gets a little, erm, steamy. I went back and forth and blah blah blah writing steamy parts, deleting them as "too steamy," editing, adding back in. I hope I got the right balance. **

The numbers swam before him and melted together. His eyelids grew heavy, and he was overcome with the aching desire to just put his head down for 15 minutes. **No.** No, there was no time. He _had_ to finish this. He screwed up his eyes and vigorously rubbed his hands over his face. He stood, walked to the kitchen, and opened the refrigerator door. The blast of cool air revived him somewhat. He took out the pitcher of tea and poured a glass. He set the glass on the table, stretched, twisted, and sat down.

The quarterly security report was due to Horace in 16 hours. This was the third he'd done as head of security, and he was now cursing himself for letting the deadline get so close without making any significant progress. Sure, he still thought the Dharma Initiative was a bunch of hippy dippy pseudo-cultists, but it didn't mean he didn't take pride in doing his job well. His other two quarterly reports? He'd started work on them a week or more before they were due. He'd worked a little each night, taken the time to get all the numbers right, finished the report early, and then gone back over it a few more times to make sure. This go-round? Not so much.

Now, 3 in the afternoon on the day before the report was due, and even though his body ached for sleep, he had to get it done. Why the hell had he let it get so out of hand? (Don't answer that, he chided himself.) He had responsibilities here, dammit. "This has gotta stop," he thought. He needed to get his head back in the game.

When it had all started (had it only been two weeks ago?), he figured there were risks. He figured it probably wasn't the smartest thing to do, but he just couldn't help it any longer. Every day for the past two weeks he'd been unable to help himself. What he never would have guessed was that it was his damn _job_ with the damn _Dharma Initiative_ that would make him seriously think "This has gotta stop."

OK, OK. He shook his head. Gotta finish this. But if he just put his head down for 10 minutes. . . wouldn't that give him the boost he needed? Just 10 minutes . . .

_Miles and Juliet slid a Michael Jackson CD into the player. "You Rock My World" came on, and the two of them began dancing and grooving. Juliet crooked her finger at James, inviting him to join her. God, he wanted to. Yes, please. But, no._ _This has gotta stop. I can't keep going like this, and come running like a lovesick fool every time she crooks her finger at me. This was getting out of hand, and he needed to get his head back in the game. Like, how the hell did they get a CD player? They were going to blow their cover!! The D.I. couldn't know about CD players. And Michael Jackson?? He was still the cute kid in the Jackson 5! They needed to shut that off! Miles was gyrating ridiculously and obscenely. Juliet was laughing at him, but waving her arms over her head in rhythm to the music. He wanted to join her so badly, but he couldn't . . . "Break of Dawn" came on. The lyrics started up, _Hold my hand, feel the touch of your body cling to mine. You and me, makin' love all the way through another night_ . . . So true, those lyrics were, but . . ."TURN IT OFF!" he shouted at them. What the hell were they thinking? He should never have agreed to work with amateurs . . ._

The door to his house burst open and slammed shut, abruptly waking him from his dream. How long had he been out? Had he been dreaming of _Michael Jackson_? He lifted his head from the pages of his report – no closer to being finished. Stomp, stomp, stomp he heard thick-soled work boots heading in his direction. He roused himself, but was still trying to regain his bearings. Juliet stood over him, thrusting a forearm in his face.

"Look at that!" she demanded. He saw a large, red, angry welt crossing her arm.

"Jesus. What happened? What's that?"

"_That_ is a burn. _That's_ what happens when you fall asleep fixing fan belts on overheated engines." The arm was still up in his face, and he pushed it gently away. She went on, "Something's got to give, James. I can't go on like this forever." She glanced down at the paperwork on the table. "What's this? The security report?"

"Yeah, it's due tomorrow," he answered.

She shook her head. "Something's got to give," she repeated. He was too tired to make any sort of response. Not that it would have mattered. Stomp, stomp, stomp, he heard thick-soled work boots retreat in the direction of the bathroom. He heard a door slam.

Was this a fight? Was this it? The inevitable "this is so over!" fight? Could they still be friends? He couldn't bear to lose that. Jesus, what had he been thinking? (Don't answer that, he chided himself.) Maybe he could salvage something. He stood, walked to the bathroom, and tapped gently on the door.

"Come in," she said.

With her right elbow braced against her body, she was trying, clumsily and unsuccessfully, to use her left hand to bandage her arm.

"Here, lemme help you out," he said.

She eyed him warily. "All right," she conceded. "But no funny business."

"Wouldn't think of it," he agreed. He stepped forward and began gently placing the gauze on her arm. He heard her sigh. _Stop that_, he thought. He held her arm tightly. "I got your arm," he said. "Now the rest of you can step back a foot or two." She looked confused. He continued, "I agreed to no funny business, and for that to happen, I require that you please step back." She giggled. "And stop giggling, that ain't gonna help the 'no funny business' vow neither."

He finished rolling the gauze around her arm, and taped it tightly. "There, all done." He stood for a moment, holding her arm in his hands. How much time did he really need to finish that report? Surely, he could take a short break. She wasn't looking at him. She was looking down at the bandage on her arm. Two long wisps of hair fell over her face. One had fallen over her eyelashes, and she blinked several times until she realized what was causing the irritation. She tucked the strands of hair back over her ears. Yes, yes, he could take a short break. God damn, here he went again. Would he _ever_ get over this?

She gently pulled her arm from his grasp. She looked right at him. "Good luck on your report, James," she said firmly. "I'm going to take a nap. Excuse me." She stared a little longer, until he realized that was his cue to move out of the way. He stepped aside. She left the bathroom, and seconds later he heard the door to the bedroom slam with finality. So was that it? Was it all over? There hadn't been a fight. Maybe they _could_ still be friends.

He trudged back to the table where his report awaited. He felt heavy hearted. It all had to end sometime, he supposed, but he wasn't ready for it just yet.

Things had gone so smoothly for so long. Everything was so neat and fit in its little place. They had their unbreakable rules about who slept where and when, about use of the bathroom, about household chores. It was all so safe and unthreatening. They'd go together to a Dharma function and might hold hands or give each other a chaste little peck, just as any married couple would. Then they'd return home and if they so much as accidentally bumped up against each other, they'd apologize profusely for invading each other's personal space. All these rules – they kept everything in order.

He'd been right about rock, paper, scissors. The game involved mostly luck, but being able to read your opponent and her tendencies didn't hurt. Just as he suspected, they fell out pretty evenly, and he hadn't been stuck on the couch any more often than she had been. Until she went on a six-day winning streak. And that was when it all changed. Well, the six days on the couch didn't do it. It was the day he at last broke through, and got back into the bed. The couch wasn't horrendous, but six nights in a row was a bit much. He was so glad to finally be back in the bed and so tired from long nights on the couch that as soon as he finished pantomiming bashing her scissors with his rock, he headed straight for bed. He didn't even bother changing the sheets. And that – that was his mistake.

Stretching out diagonally across the bed, luxuriating in the coolness of the sheets, he looked forward to his first good night of sleep in a week. "'Night James, see you in the morning," Juliet called from the couch, her nightly goodbye, but with none of the smugness he imagined he'd heard when she was enjoying nearly a week in bed.

But he didn't get a good night's sleep that night. No sir. Not in the least. He should have changed the sheets. He smelled her all night long. What was it? Lotion? Shampoo? How could she have such a distinct, sweet, almost intoxicating smell? And how was he supposed to sleep with it assaulting his senses like it was doing?

When he finally did manage to nod off, she filled his dreams. Oh, they started out innocently enough, if weird in the way dreams are. Just a typical dinner. Typical except it was Dominoes Pizza, and it had been delivered to their house by Hurley, and then their kitchen turned into a swimming pool with Locke sitting on the counter in a lifeguard outfit. If the dreams had just stopped there, things would have been fine. But they didn't stop there, and they grew less and less innocent. The pool went away (as did Locke, thankfully) and there was kissing and groping and his hands on the smooth coolness of her skin. And her smell. It was even more intense in the crook of her neck, and as she worked up a sweat, that amazing smell became more and more intense.

He woke with a start. Light poured through the windows. He was soaked in sweat. And he needed a cold shower – desperately. He dashed to the bathroom, but met her on the way there. She'd just woken up, and was still dressed for sleep in short shorts and a tank top. My God, he needed that cold shower. Please, he begged silently. Please don't look down. Please don't notice.

"Sorry," she said. "Person on the couch gets the bathroom first. Rules is rules." Fucking_ rules_, he thought. She went into the bathroom and blew him a kiss before slamming the door in his face. He knew (logically) she was being sarcastic with that kiss, and he knew (logically) that she was wearing what she always wore to bed. But he wasn't thinking logically, and he convinced himself she was toying with him. He felt angry. Not at her, really, but angry and frustrated nonetheless.

He returned to the bedroom and closed his eyes. No cold shower? Fine. He'd think of something else. Phil talking to him with spinach stuck in his teeth. The way Miles' feet smelled when he took off his boots. OK, this was working. A mental cold shower. Jin digging worms for bait. The way Juliet licked the back of a spoon when she was eating ice cream. Shit. No, not that. Horace's ridiculous hair. Radzinsky nervously tapping his pen against the side of a desk. Dr. Chang bitching someone out for a minor infraction. Juliet's hair when she first woke up in the morning. Stop. Stop.

"Your turn!" he heard her call from the hallway. He stomped into the bathroom, slammed the door, and turned the water on as cold as he could stand. After that miserable experience, he dressed and headed to the kitchen. "Coffee?" she asked, holding out a hot mug. He grumbled, but snatched the cup anyway. He banged around the kitchen. Dharma Initiative cornflakes. What a joke. Dharma Initiative milk. Ridiculous. Dharma Initiative fucking "marriage." Grumble, grumble grumble.

"Someone woke up on the wrong side of bed this morning," she teased.

He could manage no more than a glare and a grumble. And she was smiling, and it was all just too much. "Fuck it," he grumbled, and stomped off. He slammed the front door behind him and marched over to the security office.

He stewed all day. You know what the problem is? He asked himself. It's been a year – more than a year. Seriously, how long was a grown man who lived with a beautiful woman supposed to go before he lost his mind? He should just find Sheila right now and bang her brains out. It wasn't like he was really, honestly married. And, besides, he doubted Juliet cared what kind of extracurricular activities he got involved in. Except . . . well, people would talk, and she'd be the "wronged wife" again, and he didn't want that. Even if it wasn't true. She wasn't really his wife, dammit! But, no, he couldn't put her through that. So he was stuck.

Somehow he made it through the day. This would pass. He'd change the sheets next time he slept in the bed. He'd follow all those damn rules they'd set up, and he'd get over this. Tonight they'd talk about books or something, and he'd remind himself what a good friend she was.

His first order of business was to apologize. "Sorry I was so cranky this morning,"

"No problem," she said, putting dinner on the table. "Everything OK? Something bothering you?"

"No, just cranky," he answered, and his anger flared again. When was the last time he'd lied to her? Had he _ever_ lied to her? He tried to think. He didn't think he ever had. He told her everything. He'd like to talk about this, and she was the best person in the world to talk to and the last person he could tell this to, and it was maddening.

He couldn't get over it. The next few weeks were hell. They went to a Dharma picnic, and when she reached out to hold his hand, and then leaned in to kiss him on the cheek, he felt on fire. Doing this – playing 'married' – had always been such a humorous lark, and now it was ruined. He couldn't stop thinking of her _that_ way, and even their evenings became tense. He couldn't talk to her – about anything. He could barely manage to sit in the same room with her. He would sit reading, and she'd stretch her legs out onto the coffee table, and he'd notice how long they were and how smooth, and he'd glance up at her face, and she'd be concentrating on her book, chewing the tip of her index finger, or mindlessly playing with her hair, and he'd fling his book down in disgust and stalk off.

Enough of this, and she confronted him one night. He'd finished cleaning dishes and was putting things away. Damn rules. "I cook, you clean," ok, whatever you say, _dear_, you and your stupid, stupid rules. He banged open the cabinets and slammed everything down as loudly as he could. She came back into the kitchen. "What is _wrong_ with you?" she asked.

"I'm sick of this!" he practically shouted.

"You want me to do the dishes one night? It's no big deal," she replied.

"That ain't it. It's just . . ." he trailed off. They'd never come right out and said it explicitly, but the point of all these rules? These rigid boundaries they'd set? The point of all that was to keep the two of them firmly in the "just friends" category. The whole point was not to mess with the good thing they had going. The last thing in the world he wanted was to lose her friendship, but wasn't he beginning to lose it already? Not being able to talk to her, not being able to sit in the same room with her? What kind of friendship was that?

"Just what?" she inquired. He realized he'd left his last words hanging.

Shit. Now or never, he thought. He could go on like this, silently resenting her for nothing of her own doing until he slowly but surely grew to hate her very presence. Or he could be honest about what was going on. She might laugh at him, and maybe things would be awkward for awhile, but they'd get over it. Or, maybe she wouldn't laugh at him . . . He still hadn't said anything. She widened her eyes, turned up her palms. "What???" she practically demanded.

He stepped right up to her. Her hands, still upraised, touched his chest. He was very definitely invading her personal space, and he was very definitely _not_ apologizing for it. He invaded further, backing her into the wall. He could explain, he could apologize for what he was about to do, or how he had been acting, he could tell her he knew he was insane, he could say her friendship meant more to him than anything. Or he could just kiss her and let the chips fall where they may.

There was still time. Still time to back off. But he was too close now, and the smell of her shampoo – yes, that was most definitely the smell that started this whole miserable experience – that smell was too much. He bent his head to kiss her. He saw her eyes widen further and he felt briefly alarmed, but as wide and startled as her eyes looked, she was kissing him back – and not tentatively. He felt her tongue enter his mouth. He pressed her more firmly into the wall. His hands, which had been framing her face, dropped to her hips, and then under her shirt and onto the bare skin of her back.

He pulled away. "That's what," he panted.

"Oh," she breathed.

He still had his hands under her shirt. Her hands, he realized, were grasping the back of his head, twined in his hair. "Let's just get it out of our system," he said. "I don't wanna ruin what we got, but I can't go on like this anymore."

She swallowed noticeably then nodded agreement. He bent to kiss her again, with much less trepidation this time. Her hands, still on the back of his head, were pulling him closer. He pulled away again. "I gotta warn ya, though, I'm pretty good at what we're about to do." He was trying false bravado. He _used_ to be pretty good at it, but he wasn't entirely sure how good he'd be now. With her. Everything about her was assaulting every one of his senses. Her smell, the sweet taste of her tongue, the fierce blue of her eyes, the smooth skin of her back, the low humming at the back of her throat that sounded like music to his ears.

"Oh yeah, how good?" she mocked. Even that was intoxicating. God, it was still _her_ and she was still mocking him, and it was thrilling.

"Like, give me all your life savings good. It's happened before, you know."

"James, I haven't had sex in more than a year. The Dharma Initiative pays me $50 a month to fix cars. If you're even slightly above average, you're welcome to every penny I own."

He slid his hands down and hooked his fingers in the waistband in front of her jeans. He kissed her again, but began pulling her out of the kitchen, down the hallway, to the bedroom. He was walking backwards and knocked over the lamp on the end table. It was the light the couch sleeper used to read by every evening, but no one was sleeping on the couch tonight. They left it on the floor. By the time they reached the bedroom, he'd removed her shirt and bra, and she'd removed his shirt and belt.

What followed was better than he could have possibly imagined. As much as thoughts of _just this_ had been stalking his every waking (and sleeping) minute for weeks, he had had a few moments of relative lucidity when logic told him the reality could never live up to the expectations. It would be weird. She'd be closed off and shy. They knew each other too well. Well, it wasn't weird, and she was far from being closed off and shy. And knowing each other so well made this a miraculous experience. She seemed to know just where to touch him, and if her appreciative moans were any indication, he was making the right guesses, too.

He wanted it to last for as long as possible, who knew what came after this? But it had been a year . . .and he wasn't superhuman. He collapsed on top of her, and for what seemed like an awfully long time, they lay in silence, breathing heavily, sweat mingling. He didn't know what to say. He didn't know what came next. He only knew he'd like to figure out a way to do _that _again. After some time, he felt her tapping, once, twice, three times on his back. Did she want him to move? Were they done?? Was that it?? He was still inside of her, for Christ's sake! "What?" he growled.

"That was me laying down scissors," she said. "And this," she said, pulling his balled up fist, "looks to be a rock. So you win. Any way I can entice you to let me stay in the bed tonight?"

He chuckled and began nibbling the crook of her neck, her shoulders . . . "Is that a yes?" she asked, innocently.

"How much money you got saved up?" he asked.

"Shoebox on the top shelf of the closet. I think there's close to $200 in there."

"Lady, I don't get up for any less than 20 thou . . ." he trailed off. _Get up for_. . . he hadn't meant it like _that_. How crude and unsophisticated did she think he was? He hoped she didn't catch his slip, but it didn't matter. He was getting up, right now, for a lot less than 20 thou.

And so the night continued. They explored each other in every possible way until out of sheer exhaustion, they both dozed off an hour before dawn. He willed himself to stay awake, but he saw she was losing the battle. He watched her eyelids droop and close, open again, and close finally. He dreaded the coming daylight. Would it all be over? Could they just go back to being friends again? Having done all they did over the past eight hours? Her head was resting on his chest, and that wonderful smell of her hair filled his nose. Her breathing evened out. He felt her exhales on his skin and he couldn't fight it any longer. Dawn would be here soon, but the sleep he did get was the most restful he'd had in weeks.

* * *

With sunlight streaming in the windows, she woke slowly. Was it time to wake up already? Why was she so tired? She took a second to regain her bearings. It all came back in a flash. Him banging around, creating a ruckus in the kitchen. Confronting him about it. He kissed her. For weeks, months if she was being honest, she'd wondered what that would be like. The reality was it was rough and passionate and tender and endearing, and everything about spending the night with him had been magical.

"Let's just get it out of our system." That's what he'd said. She knew he was very experienced. Now that he'd sated his desires, she imagined he'd say "mission accomplished," and they'd go back to normal. She'd pretend this was just what she wanted, too. She was _not_ going to be needy or clingy or let him in on just how _inexperienced _she was in the realm of unbridled, unattached nights of passion.

He was still sleeping. She gently removed her head from his chest and watched him. Sleeping, he looked five years younger. With all the lines on his face smoothed out he looked almost peaceful. She wanted to imprint this image on her brain. She didn't know what to expect when he woke up, so for a few more minutes at least, she could pretend that this would last forever. That she'd be able to wake up next to him for at least as long as they were stuck here.

She was staring right at him when he opened his eyes. An unusual look crossed his face. She recognized the same odd, disoriented feeling she'd had on first waking up. She used the time he was regaining his bearings to make her face expressionless. What was he going to say now? We've made a huge mistake? Or, that was great? Or, glad to get it out of my system? She'd follow his lead. Whatever he said, whatever he did, she'd agree with it. She couldn't possibly let him know how wonderful this felt, waking up with him right here, right now.

His first reaction was to smile. A genuine, dimpled smile. The lines on his face were still smoothed out, he looked so relaxed and content. She returned the smile, and allowed herself some small measure of hope. Suddenly, though, his expression changed. "Oh shit," he muttered. Her hopes were dashed. Her heart dropped. He thought they'd made a mistake. She arranged her features into her best approximation of "I agree, we never should have done that." She hoped she could carry it off. It was the opposite of what she felt. "Oh shit," he said again, louder and more forceful this time. He placed the heels of his hands on his eyes. "Shit, shit, shit," he repeated. She thought, _Was it really that terrible?_ At least with his hands over his eyes like that she didn't have to fake her facial expression. He raked his hands through his hair, then turned on his side to face her.

"Here's the thing," he started. "I got this friend. A really great friend. She's pretty cool, but she's got these weird hang-ups." What was he getting at? She kept her face blank. He went on. "Anyway, a long time ago, I made this promise to her, and now I broke it, and . . .shit. I never wanted to break a promise to her. Shit." He got out of bed. Geez, he had a nice ass. He picked his boxer shorts up off the floor, slipped them on, and walked out of the room. What the hell had just happened? Should she get up? Follow him? What was going on?

Seconds later she heard him tapping at the door. "Pssssssssst. Juliet, can I come in?" What in the world was going on? Last night she'd had the most intimate parts of him in her mouth, for crying out loud, seconds ago he was lying naked next to her, and now he was asking for permission to come back in? Luckily, he didn't wait for a reply. He came in uninvited and sat next to her on the edge of the bed. She sat up to face him.

"Got a minute?" he asked. She simply nodded, stupidly. "I promised you I'd tell you when I started getting laid." Oh, yeah. How could she have forgotten? She laughed. She laughed and laughed and laughed. "Hold up, now, stop laughing. It ain't funny. Now, I ain't one to kiss and tell, but I will tell you this." He paused dramatically for effect. "It was _amazing_. I ain't kiddin'." He whistled.

"I wouldn't be offended if you told me more," she offered generously.

"Well," he started, "she's got a really soft spot on her neck right here." He ran an index finger down the side of her neck. "It tastes really nice, too," he added, kissing her there, and pushing her back on the bed. She felt his tongue on her clavicle. He then lifted his head to look her in the eyes. "You said to tell you, so I'm telling you. Women on the Island, pregnancies, I'm sorry, I wasn't thinking. I shoulda asked before . . .Please tell me it's gonna be OK. 'Cause if it's not, if something happens, we can figure it out, if . . ."

"It's OK," she told him.

"You sure? You're not just saying that?"

"It's fine," she reassured him. "Trust me. This is something I would _never_ joke about."

At the Dharma-mandated annual physical 2 months ago, the doc had offered her the pill. She took the discs, fully intending to ignore them – what did she need the pill for? Every time she opened the medicine cabinet, there they sat, the little plastic discs. For two weeks she stared at them every time she pulled floss from the cabinet, until she figured "what the hell" and cracked open the first one? Better safe than sorry. Had it been that obvious to her subconscious? Did the deep, dark recesses of her brain know this would happen?

"Good," was all he said, and he went back to licking at her clavicle.

They were going to be late for work. And there were no rules in place for who got to use the bathroom first when no one had slept on the couch. So they showered together, and needless to say, that set them back even further. They skipped breakfast, because a quickie in the shower seemed infinitely more appealing than another bowl of Dharma cornflakes.

She started that morning on such a high. She figured she probably had some kind of post-coital glow. She was convinced everyone could see right through her cheery mood. She wondered if the guys in the garage were snickering and talking about her behind her back. She wondered if it would make their jaws drop to know what she'd done last night. Then she remembered she was supposed to be "married," and what would make their jaws drop was the news that last night was the first time she and her "husband" slept together.

So, who knows what they attributed her cheery mood to. By mid-morning, though, it didn't matter. She was hungry and tired. She'd slept, what? An hour last night? Maybe not even that much. Then she skipped breakfast. Should she go to the cafeteria for lunch? A hot meal served with no effort on her part. Then again, she could spend her lunch break napping at home, and throw together a sandwich on the way back to the garage.

She chose the nap option, but had only just collapsed onto the bed when she heard James come into the house. She heard his footsteps grow closer, and heard the bedroom door open.

"What the hell are you doing here?" he asked, surprised to see her sprawled, facedown on the mattress.

"I'm trying to take a nap. What are you doing here?"

"Ditto. Slide over," he, too collapsed onto the bed. She should have told him to go take his nap on the couch. But she didn't. Instead she got an uncontrollable case of the giggles, laughing over the two absurd, jump-suited people home for their naps. Not telling him to go nap on the couch was mistake number one. The giggle fit was mistake number two. So much for the nap plan. They stayed in bed for their lunch hour, but neither slept. She returned to the garage still sleep-deprived, but at least the post-coital glow and cheery mood were back.

On it went. Day after day. Snatching forty winks here and there in between long, leisurely love-making sessions or in between frantic, desperate fucks. Insane. Where did he get the stamina? And why couldn't she get enough? And why was he still interested? Surely he'd get bored of her soon enough. She didn't even want to consider all the women he'd been with, the experiences he'd shared with them.

Instead, she'd think of what made this so wonderful. Best was that he was always right there. No more waking up on the couch and waiting 15 minutes to greet him in the morning. No more waking up in the big, lonely bed, scared and anxious about what the hell they were doing in the Dharma Initiative _in 1975_. And she loved having her friend back. He'd been so cranky and crotchety for awhile there, and she hated coming home and receiving no more than monosyllabic answers from him. Or even worse, when he'd for no reason stalk out of the room. That was all over. Her friend was back, and he'd tease her about how neatly she made the bed or laugh at her garage stories. When he'd had enough Dharma gossip, he'd kiss her, and that would be enough talking for awhile at least.

She had no idea what had gotten in to her, but it was like a drug, or a sickness. She couldn't get enough, and clung to every precious moment, because she knew one day he'd say he'd had his fill, had gotten it out of his system, hoped they could still be friends. And she would agree, arrange her features in the best approximation of "yes, let's still be friends," and would live on all these memories for as long as they lasted.

Whatever it was, she certainly wasn't herself. Playing Uno one night with Miles and Jin, she wished desperately for them to leave. She and James had decided to keep this whole thing under wraps. It only made sense. When it all ended, it would be easier to go back to being friends. But it was nearly impossible to sit right here next to him playing cards, feeling his heat, but not even touching him. She glanced over at him. She imagined unzipping his pants, holding him, watching him grow and feeling him harden in her hand. And then she felt a deep blush creep up the back of her neck, into her cheeks, all the way to her hairline. She imagined even her ears were red. Seriously, where had that thought come from? It was just so . . . _dirty_. Crude. All those months living with the guys had rubbed off on her. But she glanced over at James again, and the same thought popped into her brain. And the blush was creeping up the back of her neck again.

"Helllllloooooo?" Miles was waving a hand in her face. "The color is red." Was he talking about her face? No, he'd just put down a "WILD" card. She put down a red "Draw 2."

James picked two cards. "Well, thanks for nothing," he muttered at her, but with a wink and a smile. She felt the blush creeping back again. Her face probably matched the color of the red cards in her hand. Wow, she hoped Miles and Jin would leave soon.

The days of exhaustion were probably the first warning sign. Wishing their friends would just leave them alone was the second. Recently, though, they were neglecting their jobs. Just the other night, the phone had rung at the God-awful hour of 2:30 AM. They were in a groove, and she halfway wished he'd just ignore the ringing, but if he did, someone would probably come to the door. He held her hip with one hand, keeping her on top of him, while he reached out with his other hand to get the phone.

She bent down to begin nibbling on his free ear. She could hear Phil's voice on the other end of the line: "Sorry to wake you, boss."

She darted a tongue into his ear so that his response to Phil came out like a groan. She chose to ignore whatever it was Phil was babbling on about on the other end and began grinding her hips more intensely. Seriously, when had she ever been so bold? James was able to hold his "Mmm hhmms," and "yeahs," for appropriate conversational pauses.

Phil must've been getting anxious and upset, because she could hear him more clearly now. "So are you coming over here or what???"

"No, man I ain't coming." James grunted.

"Not yet you're not," she whispered in his ear, and got a chuckle/moan/grunt/pant in return.

Phil was loud, exasperated, and whiny. "You're not??? Well what do you want me to do about it???"

"Just take care of it, Phil. I know you'll . . ." and he had to pause here and clench his teeth to regain his composure. "You'll figure it out." He was putting the phone back on the receiver. She he heard Phil squawking, "You OK, boss?" Click.

Ten minutes later, when he was holding their hands together, palms facing each other, a favorite gesture of his she found endearing, loveable, and heart-warming, she felt an odd sense of guilt creep in. He was proud of his job. As much as he'd complain about the "damn hippies," he took pleasure in the way they treated him and the respect he'd gained. Now he was ignoring Phil just to spend time with her. And she'd egged him on! She really hoped it was nothing important. The last thing she wanted was to be responsible for screwing up his job.

What she never thought would happen was that she'd screw up her own job. But she'd fallen asleep on her feet and into the engine block, jolting awake only when her forearm landed on the still-steaming radiator. So they sent her home, even though the garage was going to be going full-tilt the rest of the afternoon. And she came home to find James, scrambling to finish the security report.

She needed time to think, and, quite frankly, she needed sleep to think. This had to stop. She didn't have the nerve to say it to him, though. They should stop acting like they were on some kind of time limit. That's what she wanted. To have a "normal" relationship (or as normal as pretending you're married while living on a hippy research commune 30 years in the past). She was sure, though, that that ISN'T what he wanted, and she wasn't going to expose herself to getting her heart stomped on. Better to say "we need to go back to 'just friends'" and spend lonely nights on the couch again than to say what she really wanted only to have him laugh at her and say "I thought we were just gettin' this out of our system."

Her arm still ached, but she slept anyway.

* * *

He felt horribly guilty. She'd hurt herself – badly – just because she was exhausted. And why was she exhausted? Because stupid redneck here couldn't keep his hands off her. I am such an idiot, he thought. The good news was that with his heavy heart and head full of lonely nights on the couch, he was actually able to concentrate on his quarterly report. Three cups of coffee helped.

When he finished, it was close to 6, and he decided to make his own dinner. He boiled up some water, cooked some pasta, and dumped a jar of Dharma spaghetti sauce over it. It would be edible. Nothing like Juliet would have cooked, but edible. She was a pretty good cook. Even better, she always seemed to remember what he liked, what he didn't like, and adjust her meals accordingly. He only had to mention once that he didn't care for mushrooms, and he never saw them again. He'd say something offhand about how he liked his grilled cheese, and voila! Two nights later, grilled cheese cooked to perfection. Never in his life – ever – could he remember someone caring enough about him to take note of his likes and dislikes.

Everything about her was just perfect. And now because he was such a ham-handed, sex-crazed doofus it was all ruined. He liked women, and he'd had plenty of experience with up-all-night sex fests. But this was something altogether new. The sex was astoundingly, surprisingly amazing. Even better, though, were the in-between times. He'd hold their palms together and wonder at how hands like hers could have been cranking down an air filter just that morning. Or he would just tell her everything that came to his mind. It seemed like a thousand times a day, something would happen at work, and he couldn't wait to come home and tell her about it. Moments that made him think "That'll make Juliet laugh," were the highlight of his working days.

He had no idea what had gotten in to him, but it was like a drug, or a sickness. He couldn't get enough, and clung to every precious moment, because he knew one day she'd say she'd thought better of this, realized she was being stupid, hoped they could still be friends. And he would agree, because it was the only way to keep them safe in this crazy con they were running, and he'd live on all these memories for as long as they lasted.

Whatever it was, he certainly wasn't himself. Playing Uno one night with Miles and Jin, he couldn't keep his eyes off her, and he hoped no one else noticed. She'd glance at him from time to time, blush, look away. God, everything about her was _magical_, he thought. Then he looked around at the group, worried they could read his mind. He felt like blushing, but controlled it. Seriously, where had that thought come from? It was just so . . . _sappy_. Lame. Somewhere in his fog he noticed Miles fussing at her for not paying attention. Then she put down a "Draw 2." He took his cards from the pile. "Well, thanks for nothing," he said, then winked and smiled. She blushed at that, and he felt a zillion feet tall. _My God, to have a woman like this to come home to every night_. And now he felt like a 100% genuine sap all over again.

"Did you get the report finished?" she stood at the kitchen door, interrupting his reverie.

"Yeah. Next quarter I'll try to be more diligent," he answered. "Although Jin was late with some statistics – apparently they were short at the garage, and he couldn't get his Jeep returned in a timely manner. Speaking of, your arm feel any better?"

"A little, I guess."

He stood up and fixed her a bowl of pasta. "Ain't nothin' but Dharma sauce from the jar, but it's edible," he apologized. She sat down next to him, and they ate in silence for a few minutes.

Finally he had to say something. "Look, I feel like it's my fault you fucked up your arm," he started.

"I think I share some of the blame," she answered and smiled at him. Could he really handle going back to 'just friends' he thought, losing himself in her smile. She went on, "Well, I guess we know the true story behind the fall of the Dharma Initiative: It was infiltrated by two idiots from the future who couldn't keep their hands off each other long enough to do their jobs."

He laughed. Shit. No way could he not be with this woman in every possible way. Now or never, he thought. He had to give it a try. He had to say what he really wanted, what he really felt. He could tell her they needed to go back to the "way it used to be," save their jobs, save their cover story, and then feel more miserable than he'd ever felt in his very miserable life. Or he could be honest – to stop acting like this was all going to end very, very soon, and just try having a real "relationship." She might laugh at him, and maybe things would be awkward for awhile, but they'd get over it. Or, maybe she wouldn't laugh at him . . . Here went nothing (everything). . .

"I know this needs to stop," he started, and her face went blank in that way that made it impossible to read. Everything else came out all in one long, quick breath. "But I can't stop, and I bet you think I'm just a dumb hick and if you say I'm out to lunch, that's fine, we can go back to being just friends – I mean, it might take me some adjusting, but I could do it – and I'll promise to keep my hands to myself, but if you wanna try something more, and we can quit pretending like we've only got a few weeks to get it all outta our system . . ."

She put her hands to his lips. "Stop," she said, simply. Fuck. He'd just made the world's biggest fool of himself. "That's what I want, too."

"Wait," he said. "Did you understand all that? 'Cause I know I was babbling. I'm sayin' I want to try, like, you know . . . maybe a normal relationship?"

She leaned in to kiss him. It was all the answer he needed.

They didn't even bother to clean the kitchen, but just collapsed into bed – for sleep. This, this was actually what his body desperately, achingly needed. More than an hour of sleep. But he did reach over to hold her. He hoped she didn't get the wrong idea about what he wanted. Tonight they didn't need sex. ""Night James, see you in the morning," she mumbled. Music to his ears. He hadn't realized how much he'd missed those seven words the past two weeks. The idea that on many nights he could hear those words _and_ have her too? Well, that was just too amazing to even contemplate.

**OK, so that's it for AWHILE. I know I said that before, but this time I really mean it! I have a business trip, and then have to visit my parents and clean out a storage space of my grandmother's stuff, and prepare for our Thanksgiving blow out, which means inviting two other families to our house for the long weekend (and 5 kids under age 7!!!). So, I'd like to update before Thanksgiving, but who knows? I know that sounds AGES away, but it's not - really! It's just around the corner.**

**So, there has to be a "they realize they are in looooooove" chapter (which they realize already, duh, but aren't admitting to themselves), and after that . . . I am open to suggestions, or am also open to saying that it is THE END. So, send any ideas my way, I'll consider any and all. **


	7. Fishing with Jin

**Oh! Erm. Hi there. So, when I said I probably wouldn't update before Thanksgiving, I wasn't kidding! OK, so I decided I _had _to get my other story out of the way (and I did – yay! And am pleased with how it turned out). Plus, there was a business trip and a houseful of guests for Thanksgiving, and Christmas-y things, and trips to the in-laws, and family in town, and dealing with a 3-year-old who thought Santa was going to bring him a _real_ garbage truck (he didn't, in case you are wondering), and bowl games to watch, and my new Droid phone to play around on, and the always exciting (and bill-paying) writing of dental materials research, and periodic bouts of morning sickness, and teaching my mom about Facebook (goodness, she's an addict now and good thing my life no longer consists of anything to hide from my mom). . . well, you get the picture.**

**But, we're back. I'm kind of just noodling around for now. I definitely am rusty. I've got some great ideas for some things to happen in this story, but not ready to write them yet. I need to get back into the swing of things. So, bear with me . . . not so sure about this chapter, but the point is just to get writing again. Here we go . . .**

When he'd left the house at the butt crack of dawn this morning, it was only lightly misting. Over the last half hour the mist turned into a steady drizzle. Perfect fishing weather, Jin would say. So where the hell was Jin? Not waiting at the swing set – his usual spot. Not at the dock, and according to a thoroughly pissed-off, grumpy, and bed-headed Miles, he wasn't at their house either.

Dammit. It was Saturday morning – he and Jin were supposed to be fishing. Just like they'd done every single Saturday since they got here more than a year ago. Those first few months, they fished in silence, Jin sometimes gesturing, helping James with baiting the hook, casting. They would sit in silence, lost in their own thoughts, enjoying the companionship. Then they began to share inside jokes, Jin's English improved, and they spent as much time talking about the past, the present, the future, as they did fishing. Lately, they'd reached a point where they didn't feel the need to talk much to each other. And they were back to enjoying the companionable silence of their Saturday morning fishing expeditions.

As much as Saturday fishing neatly illustrated his growing relationship with Jin, the need to get out of bed at 5 AM on Saturday mornings neatly illustrated the progression of his living arrangements.

For the six months they lived together in the bunkroom, Jin would jump down from his top bunk with the grace and silence of a cat. He'd shake James' shoulder, and the two would quietly gather their gear. And if one of them accidentally kicked something in the dark, or dropped their tackle box, they'd get a snarled "Keep it the fuck down, you two!" from Miles. Juliet's eyes would pop open, and she'd groan, roll over, and tuck her head all the way under her pillow.

Then they got assigned their houses. If Friday night's rock paper scissors stuck James on the couch, things were easy peasy. He'd sleep in his fishing clothes, tuck his boots next to the couch, wake up minutes before he needed to be out of the house, and head out the front door. If he'd managed to win rock paper scissors, he'd tiptoe around the bedroom, into the front room, and out of the house, shutting the door behind him as gently as he could. And, OK, he stepped out with more spring to his step on those warm mornings when she was on the couch with no blankets and only a tank top to sleep in. Standing and staring at her while she was sleeping would have been creepy, but just taking a glance or two on the way out . . .

And then there had been the two weeks when they couldn't keep their hands off each other. They were up all night, every night, and the Saturday sandwiched by those two weeks was no exception. He'd actually dozed off for a bit right around 4 AM, but when his alarm buzzed at 4:50, he awoke, rolled over, remembered she was naked (and he was, too), and Jin could probably stand to wait a few minutes . . . and 20 minutes later, he rushed out the door, feeling tired, totally relaxed, and a probably somewhat flushed. Jin, waiting at the swing set, merely glanced at his watch to indicate James was a few minutes late.

That had been nearly a month ago, though, and as amazing as those two weeks had been, James had to admit he sort of liked how things were now even better. They were less rushed, more calm, less frantic, more stable. So when he got out of bed this morning, she sensed his absence, and immediately stretched out, moving into the warm spot he'd just vacated. Her eyes stayed closed, so he didn't think she'd woken up, but a small smile crossed her face when she filled his spot in the bed.

So, dammit, where the hell was Jin? Getting out of bed at 5 AM was NOT James' cup of tea, but he did it because he enjoyed his time with Jin. But this drizzle, coupled with the idea of returning home and pushing her out of his warm spot, was too much. Fuck Jin, he thought. Damn Korean Mafioso.

Maybe James would go home, and wake Juliet up for good. Hey, just because they weren't having sex 24/7 anymore didn't mean he couldn't think up some fun ways to spend a rainy Saturday morning. My God, peeling her clothes off, feeling the warmth of her body versus standing out here in the rain??? Was it even a contest? He turned toward home, but then saw Jin walking up the path from the shed.

"Where the hell you been, man? I been lookin' all over for you."

"I'm sorry, James. I was just walking by myself, and I lost track of time."

James harrumphed. He didn't even have a response to that, other than to look thoroughly put out. Jin sat on a picnic bench, sighed heavily. James softened toward him.

"Everything OK, man?' he asked, joining Jin on the bench.

"Today is my wedding anniversary," Jin answered with no elaboration. Not that any was needed. James sucked in his breath. He'd been so wrapped up in his own life – his own happy life – that he hadn't thought of Sun in months. He remembered the early, silent fishing Saturdays. He could remember sitting there on the dock, poles in the water, each thinking about their losses, the helicopter, the ones who'd gotten away . . .

If Juliet was here, she'd say "Care to talk about it?" Maybe that's what he should say. Except it sounded so Goddamn psychotherapist/high school guidance counselor. _Care to talk about it?_ Fuck, if Jin cared to talk about it, he would.

Instead, James said, "Do you ever wish you hadn't told Locke not to bring her back?"

Jin thought for a moment. "No. I am glad she will not be back here."

"Really?" James found that hard to believe. He had a two-day security patrol coming up in a few weeks. He'd already started to dread being away from Juliet for two days. A whole year?? With no real hope of seeing her again? He couldn't fathom.

"Really," Jin confirmed. "I love her. Her safety is more important than my happiness."

Ah. Now that made sense, thought James. He wondered what he'd trade for Juliet's safety. His own happiness? Sure. "Yeah, I guess I feel the same way," he finally said.

Jin looked at him, surprised. "Even if it means she is with Jack?"

Now it was James' turn to look surprised. He thought of the story Juliet told a few nights ago. Something about her internship and the attending and rounds, and she had to stop and translate about every third word in the story. Jacky Boy wouldn't need the translation. He felt the bile rise in his throat. God, no. Besides, how could she ever be happy and safe with that sanctimonious ass? He laughed at Jin's remark. "No. Besides, I think that bridge is burned. Why would she want to be with Jack?"

Now Jin looked surprised – _again._ This was as bad as some of those conversations they used to have back when they couldn't understand each other. "You do not think there's a little chance she is with Jack right now?"

Uhm, no, Kemo Sabe, she's sleeping in my warm spot right now. "Who the hell are you talkin' about?"

"Kate," scoffed Jin. "Who are _you _talking about?"

_Oh. Shit. Maybe I should have told you. Me and Juliet, we're like a little more than fake married_. James shook his head. How to break this news? Before he got a chance, though, he noticed the expression on Jin's face. "Juliet????" Jin asked. James rolled his eyes, nodded, grinned despite himself. "Juliet??" Jin asked again, laughed. James was getting ready to protest, call a stop to the laughter, when Jin stopped of his own accord. He nodded a few times. "You know what is weird, James?" he asked.

"Miles talkin' to dead folks?"

"Besides that," Jin answered.

"Smoke monsters? Hippy dippy 1970s communes? That chick who thinks Phil is hot?" James offered. Jin shook his head 'no' to each.

"What is weird is that this – you and Juliet – is not weird at all. It seems just right to me," he smiled, grasped James on the shoulder, squeezed.

"Thanks, man," James replied.

Jin released his grip. They sat in silence for awhile. The drizzle had turned back into a mist. Jin broke the silence. "I wonder what Sun would say. _She_ would think it was weird. She does not know you and Juliet as well as I do. Oh, she would love to hear this," Jin chuckled.

Sun. Right back where they started, with Jin missing his wife. James looked at his friend. "You'll see her again someday," he said. Jin simply nodded.

_You'll see her again someday. _

_FLASHBACK_

They sat on their porch, drinking beers. Miles to his left, Juliet to his right.

"One month in Dharmaville. LaFleur, you think your buddies are coming back for us anytime soon?" Miles asked.

James grunted. He had no freaking clue. But he trusted Locke. They'd get here sooner or later, they had to. "Locke said he'd bring 'em back, he'll bring 'em back."

"OK. Sure," Miles answered, clearly not buying it. Juliet sat silently, staring at the stars. Miles spoke again. "I mean, why the hell would any of them come back to this nutso place? And, hello?? 1974?"

"They'll come back for us," James stated. More to make himself believe than anything.

"I'm just saying, just because you bumped uglies with a chick a couple of times? Doesn't mean she's gonna travel back in time 30 years and then journey to madhouse island just to save your sorry ass. But, whatever, dude. You keep on believing." Miles downed the rest of his beer, slapped James on the knee, stood up and stretched. "See you fine folks later," he said, stepping back into the bunk room.

James and Juliet sat silently for a few moments. They heard laughter from somewhere across the courtyard. Finally James spoke. "It was more than just bumping uglies." He winced. He felt so uncouth around her sometimes. _Bumping uglies._ Damn. He should have said something . . . nicer (fucking Miles started it, though).

Her head was tilted back in her chair, staring up at the stars. She shifted her eyes to look at him, but didn't move her head.

Lamely, he added, "At least it was more than bumping uglies to me." (oops. That phrase again.) He had started to doubt if it was any more than that to her, though. He'd doubted it for a long time.

"You'll see her again someday," Juliet said.

"I don't know . . ." he started. Normally he liked to be the confident one. The one person in their little gang keeping hopes alive. Now, though, maybe it was time to be honest. "I guess it'll be OK if I don't never see her again."

"Don't say that," she said. "Please. Don't give up hope. You'll see her again someday. I've been saying those same five words to myself for more than three years -- you'll see her again someday." And for the very first time she told him about her sister.

_END FLASHBACK_

"You'll see her again someday," he had just said to Jin. The words now were almost hollow. It was easy enough to believe it when they'd been here a month. Now they'd been here more than a year.

"Thank you, James," Jin said. He knew James didn't believe it anymore than he did, but it was the thought that counted. "I am going to go walk some more. Maybe we don't fish today?"

James nodded, agreed. Jin walked off.

Jin would probably give anything to see Sun again, but James wasn't even sure he wanted to see Kate. He wanted her to be safe. He wondered what she was doing. Where? _When?_ With who?

He thought he had loved her. Jin had said "I love her. Her safety is more important than my happiness." And that's exactly why James jumped from the helicopter, wasn't it? Screw his happiness, he wanted her to be safe. But the truth? Well, he wasn't entirely sure any happiness actually waited back in the real world. He sort of imagined shacking up in New Otherton and living a life of leisure, but as soon as he found out there was no more New Otherton, no more beach camp, or anything but a life of danger and timeflashes? Well, then, when Locke said, "Don't you want her to come back, James?" Then, hell yeah, he wanted her back. Screw her safety. He just wanted to see her again.

Jin, though -- Jin knew what real love was. He'd deal with nosebleeds and death as long as Sun was safe. He'd patiently wait for years in Dharmaville as long as Sun was safe. A year had passed, and Jin still regularly fell into wistful silences, thinking of her. That was true love. How long had James laid awake thinking of Kate? A month? Two months? That wasn't love, he supposed. That was . . . something else . . . extreme like? Infatuation?

It ate at the back of his mind, and confused him now. "Now you know what love is," his subconscious spoke. He'd trade anything – anything – for Juliet's safety. And if he had no real hope of seeing her again? It would take a lifetime to stop thinking of her. To stop missing her. But, no. He didn't want to believe it. He didn't want to be in love. Not with this fake Dharma-issued wife. Not with this woman he used to hate. Not with the person he depended on to get him through this con. It was too complicated.

Well, fishing was off. It was still early. Maybe she was still in bed, and he could go home and fuck her silly. Remind himself that it was all just "bumping uglies." Remind himself that she was hot and had an amazing rack and it was easy to think you were in love with the person you slept with every night. He'd gotten dozens of women to fall for just that same idea. And, yeah, he and Juliet got along just great, but this "love" business was something else entirely.

But she wasn't still in bed when he got home. She was sitting at the kitchen table, a bowl of cereal at her elbow, bent over a crossword puzzle, pen in hand, her left hand rubbing the back of her neck.

"You're back early," she looked up and smiled at him.

And he knew. He knew he was happy she was awake. He knew he would tell her all about Jin and his anniversary. He knew she'd say they should try to do something nice for him. He knew he'd be grateful she was so thoughtful. He knew if he stepped behind her, she'd snap at him not to try to finish her puzzle. He knew if he waited ten minutes, she'd ask for his help. He knew that if he finished the puzzle for her, she'd look at him with a mixture of irritation and admiration.

And he knew then that he did love her.

And it scared the piss out of him.


	8. Harmless Joe

She twisted awkwardly, stretching the shopvac hose under the back seat of the van. The hose didn't quite reach, and she jerked at it in frustration. The shopvac base clattered against the van, but she had enough give in the hose now to reach the far back corner. Weighted down with sweat, her bandana slipped a bit over her eyes and she jerked at that, too. Dammit. She wasn't supposed to be working today. None of them were.

Last night was Jin's party. Well, the cover story behind their get-together was James scoring the last three liquor bottles in the commissary. The truth was, though, she, James, and Miles were going to try to cheer Jin up. They didn't let him know that, of course. Pointing out to him how miserable he was and how sorry they all felt for him would have the opposite of the intended effect.

Instead, James said "I got the last three bottles of liquor in the commissary, and me and Juliet can't drink all of it, so y'all two come over tomorrow night for some fun." And it had been just coincidence that they _happened_ to eat some of Jin's favorite foods and, yes, all just happenstance that they played Clue (Jin's new favorite board game) afterwards. Miles even put up a very realistic (but fake) argument in favor of Monopoly.

The ruse worked. Jin had fun. They all had fun, in fact. This was the first time they'd all gotten together since James spilled the beans on their relationship to Jin two weeks back. They waited just a little while longer to tell Miles (James and Jin just got a kick of keeping him in the dark). But now, everything was out in the open and the best thing about it was that it was so uncomplicated. Not confusing.

See, once they knew Dharma thought they were married, the cover stories and what they did where got to be confusing. They were married; therefore, in public they held hands, or gave each other chaste pecks on the cheeks. In private (or with Miles and Jin), though, they acted just like they always had.

Then they started sleeping together, but hiding it from Miles and Jin. Now _that_ was confusing. Their act in public stayed the same -- the hand-holding, cheek-kissing affectations of the long-time couple (although the chaste pecks they shared came with a flourish of heat and an anticipation of more to come behind closed doors . . .).

Now, though, they needed to put on a second, different act around Miles and Jin. They had to act like "just friends," even though they were much more than that. They acted just like they always had -- good friends in an awkward situation. One evening, Miles caught James standing next to her, with his hand lingering on her ass. "Hey guys? No one but me and Jin around . . . no need to keep up the act." Yep, Miles suspected. He was an intuitive guy. But James and Juliet were excellent liars, and so there was a standoff -- Miles always suspecting, but never _quite_ sure.

Behind closed doors . . . well, now. Behind closed doors was _very_ nice.

But everything was out in the open now, and there were no more acts. Their affection in public wasn't an act. Their affection when Miles and Jin were around wasn't an act. Their affection in private wasn't an act. Good gracious, it was a relief to not have to keep straight how she was supposed to act around who when.

All of that -- the no more acting, the three bottles of liquor, Miles cooperating to work out a special night for Jin, Jin actually having a good time -- all of that made last night pretty great. And pretty darn long, and now she was paying for it today.

Dammit, it was Saturday, she wasn't supposed to be working. When James offered her another 7 and 7 at close to 1 AM, she would have turned it down if she knew she was going to be in the garage all morning. She should still be in bed, dammit, but the sub came in this morning, two days early, and whenever the sub arrived -- everybody worked. She was now prettying up the vans to shuttle the new recruits from the dock. "Gotta make a good first impression!" Horace chirped whenever new recruits arrived.

She was somewhat heartened to see Miles sitting at a picnic table on the quad, his head in both hands. If James' attitude upon being awakened at 8:30 was any indication, she figured he, too, was off somewhere cursing their fates. Jin, she hadn't seen yet. He'd had more to drink than any of them.

She struggled more with the damn shop vac. "Sonofabitch," she cursed under her breath. She was never drinking so much again. She got the van clean (well, clean enough), and rested on the back bench. She'd had her head down for no more than a few minutes when she heard, "Long time, no see!" She lifted her head, unfolded herself from the van, and turned to see her friend, Joe, back from Ann Arbor.

"Joe!" It was good to see him, and she gave him a hug.

"Rough day?" he asked, taking in her disheveled and sickly appearance.

"Rough day, fun night . . . six of one, half dozen of the other," she admitted and smiled.

Joe. . . he'd been gone for awhile now. She thought back to those weeks when they had dinner in the cafeteria every night. How much she'd enjoyed his company, and sat across from him desperately, achingly, frantically trying to stoke up something more than "enjoying his company." She remembered him telling stories, and her saying things to herself like, _See, now he has very kind eyes. You like kind eyes, right? He's attractive right?_ _Yes. Yes! He is attractive! He IS attractive, so why the hell am I not attracted to him?_

It had all been so frustrating, and her conclusion was simply that too much time living with guys, working with guys ... maybe it was all gone. No more attraction. No more flutter in the stomach when a nice, good looking man said something to her like "Mechanics on the Cape aren't as good looking as they are here." Or, hell, maybe something about time travel just sapped you of sexual energy. Whatever it was, it was gone.

Ha! Wrong conclusions, there, sweetheart. She actually heard James' voice in her head.

Sapped of sexual energy. Ha, again! Not quite . . .

It wasn't only that she was never attracted to Joe, it was also that she had begun to suspect that she herself was not particularly attractive. Those jumpsuits weren't exactly flattering. And grease in your hair and the long-lingering scent of the garage (eau de Texaco, Miles called it) were not known to be aphrodisiacs. Top it all off with three absurd roommates – a cantankerous Southerner, a cynical Valley boy, and a silent Korean – well, Juliet didn't know what it all added up to, but she was sure of what it _didn't_ add up to. She couldn't imagine ever feeling desirable again.

Ha, times a thousand! Not desirable? That wasn't how she felt a few weeks back when midway through some random, ridiculous Dharma-mandated "getting to know you" cocktail hour, James had interrupted her conversation with Kimberly and Dawn, two feather-haired school teachers. "'Scuse me, ladies," he said. "Mind if I borrow the Missus for a bit?" And of course they hadn't. They giggled, smiled, blushed. Juliet fought the urge to roll her eyes. OK, clearly she wasn't immune to his charms – not even remotely – but she sometimes found other women's reactions to him amusing.

He placed a hand at the small of her back, and pushed her toward their house. "What's going on?" she asked.

"Just wait – you'll see," was all he said, his hand maintaining its pressure, but slipping a wee bit below the small of her back.

He opened the door to their house and closed it behind them. She was still looking around, wondering what it was he'd brought her in here for, halfway expecting some kind of surprise, when he turned her around, backed her into the door, hitched up her skirt, lowered her underwear, and began unbuckling his belt.

"I just couldn't handle it one minute longer," he panted against her ear. "I just needed this . . . needed you."

They were back at the party not long after. Back soon enough that Kimberly and Dawn were still standing right where she left them. So, she rejoined the conversation, knees still wobbly, the hair at her temples damp with sweat. She was sure her face was flushed and Kimberly and Dawn knew just what had happened, but they chattered on about who knows what, and Juliet stood and listened to them in a haze, thinking she'd never felt more desirable in her life.

"I picked up some sandwiches at the dock. Can you take a break for lunch?" She refocused on Joe and was more than happy to take a break.

They sat. "Hey, sorry about before . . . before I left? Coming on to you? I'm really sorry. I didn't know you and LaFleur were together." (_Yeah, I didn't either_, she thought).

"Don't worry about it. Besides, no harm keeping him on his toes, right?" she said.

Joe laughed at that, then told her all about his work in Ann Arbor. He'd been working on possible new routes of transportation to the Island. This interested Juliet only mildly. The work was interesting, but given that the sub that dropped Joe off this morning was the same one that would drop her off in 26 years, she seriously doubted Joe's work would amount to much.

But she listened attentively, and asked questions where appropriate. All, really, so that she could slip in "And did you ever see Dan Faraday?" without seeming too obvious.

"Oh yeah. Faraday. Yeah, that guy's a piece of work. What in the world was he doing on your salvage vessel?"

Damn. What had it been Daniel was doing? What had been his cover story? "Oh, I don't know for sure – you know, it was all beyond me!" She giggled, tee-heed. _Silly, girly, blue collar, uneducated me, how would I know what the egghead was up to? _"Some kind of oceanographic research or something." Please let that suffice.

"Gotta say, he's either the most brilliant person I've ever met – or the craziest," Joe said. (_Oh, don't be too sure it's either/or,_ she thought_._)

She so badly wanted to know what Faraday was working on, what he'd discovered, but she didn't want to seem obvious. "What makes you think he's so crazy?" she asked.

"He's working on – get this – time manipulation." Joe rolled his eyes, whistled. Juliet laughed, too. _What a crazy idea! Time manipulation._ _Pfft._ Joe kept on. "But the thing is, some of the stuff he showed me – well it's not all crazy talk. I don't know. Maybe I'm the crazy one, but he could be on to something. He's your buddy. If you stick around long enough, maybe he can figure out a way to give you a one-way trip to the future!"

She laughed along with Joe of the absurdity of it all, but felt her throat go dry and sweat creep into her armpits.

"Lyons!" Joe wheeled his head around at the shouted sound of his last name. It was Radzinsky. "Let's get a move on. Dr. Chang has some blueprints he needs you to look at."

Joe got up. "Ah, Radzinsky," he said under his breath. He muttered sarcastically, "It's good to be back." He stood up. "Well, I'll see you around," he said to Juliet. She was still thinking about Daniel in Ann Arbor, so she plastered on a fake smile.

She headed back to her vans, but Mick met her at the garage entrance. "Go ahead and knock off, Jules. We only got one more shuttle going, so there's no need for you to hang around anymore."

So she shuffled off toward home, still hungover, now for some reason oddly anxious about Faraday's work in Ann Arbor. Not even thinking, she took a detour on the way home, and ended up sitting on an isolated bench at the edge of Dharmaville.

Why had this shaken her up so? She'd known all along what Daniel was doing in Ann Arbor: A) getting away from Charlotte and B) researching time travel. So why did confirmation of this very fact make her so ill at ease? What if he was making progress? What if he came back on the next sub with a way out of here? That was good, right? It's what she'd always wanted and hoped for, right?

_You'll see her again someday._ The five words that had gotten her through three years. She'd see Rachel again someday. She would. She had to believe it. But when they landed here in 1974, she began, for the first time, to wonder if she would see her again. _You'll see her again someday. _Those words started mocking her. How on God's green earth was she ever going to see her again? So she'd stopped saying them and stopped thinking them. And now that she thought them again, they chilled her.

If she could? Get back there now? Would she even want to?

_You do realize it's 1974, that whatever it is you think you're going back to... it don't exist yet. _

Yeah, well, the problem now?

_You do realize it's 2005 (maybe, however the hell that worked), that whatever it is you think you're going back to... it don't exist anymore._

Too much had changed. She'd changed too much. Once upon a time, she really did think she could go back. All the way back. Three years was a long time, and dealing with all that death and a creepy boss weighed her down. She could imagine Rachel's gentle "tsk tsks" when Juliet confessed to sleeping with a married man. But, all in all, there was nothing that stopped her from one day going home and picking up where she left off.

Until Oceanic 815 fell from the sky, and her creepy boss sent her married lover to his death. And she particpated in the kidnap and torture of some poor plane crash survivors. And then schemed to have her creepy boss killed, but instead killed a colleague just to let the plane crash people go free. And then, well, infiltrated and schemed against the plane crash survivors, then changed her mind _again_, and schemed against her former colleagues.

Which, she supposed, was a little bit much to tell Rachel about. And then there was the time travel, and more shooting and killing and violence and death. She could never go back. She wasn't even close being the same person she was when she left more than four years ago. She was harder and colder. Rachel would never understand. Hell, how could anyone who knew all that she had done accept her?

She heard a crowd tromping across the grass into the Indoc station. New recruits, with James and Jin raggedly tagging along behind. James happened to look up and catch her eye. He shook his head (he looked miserable, but Jin looked about fifty times worse), but winked at her and smiled. Her heart warmed.

**_He_** knew all she had done. Had actually been front and center for most of it. He accepted her. If they went back to the future, what would happen to him? With them? She sat in shock realizing that she'd probably trade Rachel for James. If she could only have one – she'd have him. He knew the real her. Rachel knew the old her.

That just couldn't be. She loved Rachel. Rachel was the only person in the world she really, truly loved. It was that love and "you'll see her again someday" that got her through some of the roughest times of her life. She loved her sister, deeply. So why in the world would she rather be with James?

_Because you love him, too. Duh. How simple is that?_

She didn't want to love him. That complicated things. Plus, it scared her. Love had never exactly been her strong suit, and the thought of having her heart squished again was too much to bear.

She loved him, though. She couldn't deny it.

**Anybody got a good description for the summary? I realize I'm not particularly good at that, and would be happy for suggestions!**


	9. Bedroom Noises

**Thanks, Eyeon, for the updated summary! **

"Jin, this is really very good!" Juliet exclaimed.

"Thank you," he said. "I only wish I had all the correct ingredients."

Jin was going to crash on James and Juliet's couch tonight, and as a thank you, he cooked them a traditional Korean meal. Or, as traditional as he could get using only Dharma-branded ingredients. He'd cooked the meal at his home before coming over.

"Plus," Jin added, "it makes the kitchen smell very bad, so Miles and Kimberly will have to deal with that."

Everyone laughed at the idea of Miles and Kimberly's romantic candlelit dinner, overwhelmed by the lingering scent of Jin's home-cooked Korean meal.

James grumbled some at Miles' decision to have his big date night on a Thursday. "If he thinks he's gonna get out of anything tomorrow just 'cause he was up late with his Dharma hottie, he's got another think comin'. Explain, though, why you gotta spend the night over here. Don't you guys got a couch of your own?" James asked.

"James," Jin patiently explained, "the walls are very thin. I do not want to spend the night hearing Miles and Kimberly . . ." Jin trailed off. Everyone caught his drift, even though Jin was too proper to say more.

"Well, hell," said James. "What in the world do you think me and Juliet are gonna be doing in our bedroom tonight?"

Juliet grimaced, rolled her eyes. "He's kidding, Jin."

"Yeah," James conceded. "Don't worry. We can do it real quiet."

Jin giggled, and egged on by that reaction, James continued, "Well, _I_ can be quiet, but I'm not so sure about Little Miss Miss Moany Moany, here." He pointed a thumb in Juliet's direction.

"James!" she exclaimed. "Jin, please, you do know he's kidding, right?" Jin laughed at Juliet's chagrin, but also at James, dramatically whispering "Not kidding. Not kidding" and shaking his head behind her back.

Later that evening, Juliet showered, dried her hair, brushed teeth, and prepared for bed. Stepping out of the bathroom, she spoke to Jin, who had settled in on the couch. "Anything else you need, Jin?"

"No. Thank you again," he answered.

"Mind if I give you a piece of advice?" she asked. He shook his head no. "The couch is a lot more comfortable if you put your head on that end." She indicated that Jin should switch positions. "Trust me. I've spent many a night on that couch."

He didn't protest and switched sides. "Good night, Juliet," he said.

"Night, Jin."

She stepped into her bedroom and couldn't believe what she saw waiting for her. James, sprawled on the bed, grinning like a schoolboy.

"You have got to be kidding me," she declared. She shook her head, rolled her eyes. "Can't we just skip it – for once?"

He sat up, put on a serious voice and lectured, "Juliet, we skip it once, and then what? Then we skip again, and again . . . and then what? No, we don't skip it."

She rolled her eyes again, but she capitulated. She approached the bed, held out her hand.

He'd won. He smiled, but held out his hands in a "Stop!" gesture. "Nice try!" he yelped. "Get over on your side, missy. I already put my ships in, and I don't want you lookin'."

"Fine." She got in bed on her side, took the Battleship clamshell and opened it. They'd been playing every week for a year and a half, and yet, every time she opened the clamshell, she felt a brief sadness. It reminded her of opening a laptop. Something she'd probably never do again, or, with any luck, would do as an old lady.

* * *

They played several rounds. They kept their voices down so as not to disturb Jin. The walls were thin, after all. She'd given him shit about just skipping Battleship this week, but this was something he couldn't skip. It meant so much to him.

They played without talking. He loved to watch her play. She sat cross-legged on the bed, seriously studying her next guess. She chewed on her lower lip and blinked against a strand of hair that had fallen in her face. Playing like this, he sometimes felt he could see all the way back to the little girl she'd once been, and it warmed his heart. Every so often, though, she'd lean over to stretch out or something, her tank top would gap open, he'd glance down the front, and he'd completely forget anything about Little Girl Juliet. Thoughts like that warmed an entirely different body part.

Why in the world would she want to skip Battleship? Especially this part: "G8," he said.

"You just sank my battleship!" she squealed (as quietly as it was possible to squeal).

That was always his favorite part of the game. It was childlike and fun-loving, but also sort of ironic in the vein of "I'm making fun of what we're doing." Whatever it was, it was distinctly Juliet, and it was their not particularly funny private joke, and he loved it.

"I love when you do that," he chuckled.

She didn't respond. Just stared at him, and her eyes widened. She began to shake her head, almost imperceptibly. And were those tears in her eyes? The hell? She knew he liked that part – it's why she always did it. Why was "I love when you do that?" such a big deal?

Oh. Because "I love when you do that," was what his brain told his mouth to say. What his mouth _actually_ said, though (he realized too fucking late), was "I love you." Shit. Ah. He wanted to immediately take it back, say "I meant to say . . ." but, then again, "I love you" was true, wasn't it? But damn. Damn. Damn. He wasn't prepared to deal with the fallout. Shit. What was she gonna say now? He wasn't ready for this conversation. What a fucking idiot. Ah damn.

He inhaled deeply. He was thinking, _I need to just leave it at that for now. Can we put that on hold for a bit?_ _Please? Pretty please?_ He stared at her, waiting for what came next.

She stared back. She cleared her throat. "D4," she finally said in a cracked voice.

_Oh, thank you. Thank you. Thank you, he thought. God, I love you so much, thank you for figuring that out._ He stared at her, hoping to get that message across. "Hit," he replied.

With a shaking hand, she placed a red peg in her board. They played two more rounds without saying anything. Finally she spoke. "Awhile ago, I was thinking what would happen if I had to choose between going back to Rachel or being with you. And, as much as I tried to deny it to myself, I'd choose you. I'd choose you, James."

"That's a lot of pressure to put on a guy," he joked.

"Please don't joke," she said. "I guess I'm trying to say I love you, too."

His heart started beating about a million beats per minute. He could tell she meant it, and it wasn't something she thought or said lightly. This was serious and it was scary and it felt so damn good. He grinned. "I love you," he said again, and this time it was not an accident. "Christ, that's so easy. I love you," he said a third time and chuckled.

She leaned over her clamshell to kiss him, and pegs started falling out of their spaces, along with a few gray plastic ships. He used one arm to swipe all the Battleship accoutrements to the end of the bed. He kept kissing her while rolling her over, and running his hands up her shirt.

"What about Jin?" she whispered.

"I wasn't kidding when I said I could do it quiet," he whispered in return. "Now you gotta prove you can do it quiet, too."

* * *

More than an hour earlier, listening to the noises next door, Jin lay on the couch thinking, _This is hell_. The pillow over his face muffled the sounds somewhat, but not enough. What he might have heard if he'd slept on his own couch would have been disgusting, probably. Miles and Kimberly and their meaningless, inconsequential sex. Probably grunting and oohing and ahhing and giggling and all sorts of things that would require him to pour hydrochloric acid in his ears in order to clean them property.

But meaningless, inconsequential sex? Well, that was something he, Jin Kwon, could have. Could have right now. He could find a Dharma babe tomorrow and have sex with her tomorrow night. If he was a different sort of man, that is. The sounds of Miles and Kimberly's rutting session would have been disgusting, yes, but what he heard next door was heartbreaking.

Because what was going on next door was something he couldn't have. Not in this time or place. It was something that had been torn from him, and he might never get it back. So he listened, in despair, for close to an hour as he heard, over and over, Sawyer's voice, then Juliet's, back and forth and back and forth. It sounded like they were speaking in some sort of code. Every so often, someone's voice rose to a level that allowed him to hear. "J6," he thought he heard Juliet say at some point. What the hell? Were they talking about the fence? More back and forth murmuring. "Miss," he distinctly heard Sawyer say later. What in the world?

At some point the rhythmic back and forth code talking stopped. Briefly. Then started up again for a little bit. It stopped again, and now it sounded like they were having a real, human, non-code conversation. He heard both of them laughing. He heard them talking earnestly. He heard them talking in that easy, trustworthy manner he missed so much.

He wanted that back. He wanted to go to bed at night, and turn to Sun and laugh and chuckle and talk and murmur. And he absolutely couldn't stand hearing it now. He took the pillow from over his head. Maybe they'd stopped talking. He hadn't heard them say anything for a minute or so. Thank God, maybe they were finally asleep.

He strained his ears. He heard something like a bed spring squeaking. Probably the sound of someone rolling over to turn out the light. He thought he heard a tiny giggle from Juliet. Yes, thank God, they were saying goodnight. He couldn't bare to listen to them talking to each other for another instant. He thought he heard another squeak from the bedspring, but after that, more silence.

He fell asleep with a heavy heart.


	10. Who the Hell is Goodwin?

**I think I once said you could think of this as sort of like a prequel to my other story. The other story (for those who haven't read) is a post-Incident fic, and this one is obv, Dharma. But, they've started to diverge a little bit, and will diverge a good bit more. So, don't expect this one to end where the other one picks up, K? Just a warning. There are some details the same, but other details different (for instance Jin and Miles finding out, first "I love yous," etc.). **

**As for THIS chapter, n****ot that this advances the "plot" any, but it's an interesting scenario I dreamed up. Soooo . .. And it starts from Miles' POV. Thanks Kasey22 for help with a sticky line of dialogue!**

"So, who the hell is Goodwin?"

It took less than a second. Their reactions totally confirmed it for him. Fucking LaFleur. What a liar. Miles stared at Jin and Juliet. No sooner were the words spoken than Jin froze with his grilled cheese sandwich midway between mouth and plate. Juliet's hands, meanwhile, had flown to her mouth and her eyes widened in shock. If their actions hadn't given them away, their colors would have. Jin looked a little green around the gills; Juliet had paled at least two shades.

Obviously, "Goodwin" was the magic word, and Miles knew it! He _knew_ it! LaFleur had been lying through his teeth.

"So? Care to fill me in? Who is he?"

Jin recovered first – sort of. He stammered. He spoke in broken English, which he rarely did anymore. "With Mr. Eko, I walked with Mr. Eko . . . saw him." He swallowed, seemed a little disturbed by the memory. "He was dead. He was Others."

"A **_ha_**!" exclaimed Miles. "So he was 'Others' and here on the Island when the plane crashed. Surely you knew him, right?" he turned to Juliet, who by now seemed to have regained composure.

"In a manner of speaking, yes," she said. "And why, please, are you asking about Goodwin, Miles?"

Well, shit. He'd somehow tripped off Ultra-Polite Juliet. Ultra-Polite Juliet was just one step removed from Cold and Scary Juliet. It had been ages since he'd encountered either. Miles decided to tread lightly. "Well, I'm asking, because I knew James was lying to me. I knew it, and you guys just proved me right."

"What was James lying to you about, Miles?" Juliet asked.

SIX HOURS EARLIER

They bounced along the rutted road (if you really wanted to stretch and call this strip of dirt a "road") until they reached the pylons. It was way too early for Miles' taste, and he spent a good bit of the ride complaining about having to be out of bed so early. "Shit, man," LaFleur countered, "trust me, your bed's got nothin' on mine. Yet here I am, and you don't hear me complainin', do ya?"

Miles grumbled some more, but the truth was, a little adventure never did a body harm. They were supposed to meet Alpert. Some modification or codicil or who the fuck knows what kind of alteration to the truce. Horace made his changes, and LaFleur was to take them to Alpert. Miles would never in a million years say so, but he was kind of proud James chose him as backup this morning.

They parked at the pylons and set out on foot. "Where to, Boss?" Miles asked.

"We just sorta walk through the jungle here. Don't know how they do it, but Alpert's men usually find us in about a half hour or so."

So they walked. The jungle was kind of eerie so early in the morning. The sky was gray and there was a light morning mist. The Hostiles were expecting them, so he wasn't too worried about them, but the whole idea of it creeped him out. The idea that they'd all of a sudden just appear from nowhere . . . nah, he didn't like it.

"Stop right there!" a voice echoed from the trees. Miles and Sawyer froze, hands up.

"I'm Jim LaFleur," Sawyer announced. "Here to see Richard Alpert."

At that, Miles saw a handful of men, guns drawn, creep from the hillside to their right. The guns and the men were menacing, but the head guy spoke in a professional tone. "Right, he's expecting you. Follow us."

"He ain't with you?" Sawyer asked.

"Follow us," was all the head guy would say.

Miles and Sawyer did as they were told. Miles could tell something was off. "What's up, LaFleur?"

"It's just, Alpert usually makes an appearance right after the Welcome Wagon shows up. I ain't never had to follow 'em before."

"Should I be scared?" Miles asked. Shit. Adventure was all well and good, but this was taking an unexpected turn.

"Nah. We ain't done anything to trip 'em off. Just weird is all."

Another 45 minutes of walking, and they entered a clearing with several tents, campfires, folks milling about. "Well, well, well," Miles breathed. "Looks like we're at Hostiles HQ."

Alpert approached them. He glanced at Miles, nodded at him, but seemed to make a decision that it was not worth introducing himself. He addressed LaFleur. "My apologies for the change in protocol this morning, but I was needed here."

Miles could tell LaFleur was in full-on Head of Security mode, scanning the camp, its inhabitants, their doings. Clearly he was looking for some bit of intel, some important piece of knowledge. Alpert realized it, too. He chuckled, said, "I'm afraid it's nothing earth shattering. We're simply moving camp this afternoon, and that sometimes requires more attention than I'd like. And, unfortunately, I have just a bit more unfinished business to take care of. Let me show you to a tent so you can relax. Can I get you gentlemen some coffee?" he asked. Miles and Sawyer both indicated yes. Alpert pointed to a tent. "You can wait in there. I'll have someone bring coffee shortly."

Miles and Sawyer sat, waiting.

"You think something's up?" Miles asked. "This some kind of plot or something? Should we drink the coffee? What if it's poisoned?"

"Nah," Sawyer answered. "Alpert's always been on the up and up. These people are creepy, but Alpert's not a psychopath."

The flap to their tent opened, and a kid stepped in with coffee. He handed them both steaming mugs. LaFleur indicated thanks, and the kid retreated to sit at the entrance to the tent.

"We might be awhile with these mugs. You wanna come back in ten?" LaFleur asked.

The kid looked apologetic. "Mr. Alpert wants me to stay here and keep an eye on you."

"At least the kid's honest," Sawyer muttered to Miles under his breath.

Miles whispered in return, "If they've just sent a kid to watch over us, we should be OK, doncha think?"

Sawyer nodded. They looked over at the kid. He sat right at the tent entrance, the lightest part of the tent, where the morning sun streamed in. Like all the Hostiles save Alpert, he was dressed in rags. Miles was terrible at guessing kids' ages, but this guy looked to be 10 maybe -- 12 at the most. He pulled a book and a handful of papers from a satchel he carried. He opened the book flat on the ground and began studying what was on the pages.

Miles noticed Sawyer watching with some interest. Uh oh. LaFleur had this thing with kids. First, he'd be all gruff and mean and generally standoffish with them. But he was always genuinely interested in things kids did. He hadn't had much of a childhood, Miles had come to learn, and so he seemed to have a keen interest in things he'd missed growing up. But what could a Hostile kid be doing of interest? Miles just hoped LaFleur didn't get all buddy-buddy with the guy.

The kid studied his book more, took out one sheet of paper, and began folding it.

"Watcha workin' on, kid?" LaFleur asked. Well, fuck, thought Miles. Leave it to LaFleur to get nosy with a baby Hostile.

"Origami," the kid answered. "Did you know you can make almost anything by just folding up a sheet of paper?" He held up the paper in his hands, now shaped like a grasshopper, to demonstrate.

"Wow!" LaFleur exclaimed, genuinely impressed. "I can do paper airplanes, but that's pretty cool. How'd you figure that out?"

"I got this book with all sorts of designs in it," the kid answered. "I've been doing the grasshopper for awhile now. I'm trying to learn how to do a rose." He indicated a page in the book.

"A rose??" scoffed LaFleur. "What the hell you wanna do a rose for? A grasshopper's way cooler than a rose."

The kid ducked his head, blushed. "There's a girl in camp I like. I thought maybe she'd like a rose."

"Ah, for a girl. Now you're talkin'." Damn, Miles thought. Leave this kid to pick a topic right up LaFleur's ally.

"Yeah, girls like flowers, right?" the kid asked in earnest. "That's what Danny says. You got a girl?"

LaFleur, so smooth with his lies. "A wife, actually."

"Goodwin!" they could hear Alpert outside the tent. Miles noticed LaFleur's face go slack at the sound of the name. He leapt up, poked his head outside the tent, and scanned every Hostile in eyesight.

Meanwhile, the kid, too, jumped up, stepped outside, and approached Alpert. The kid, Goodwin must be his name, and Alpert spoke in low tones. LaFleur stood, dumbfounded, staring.

Goodwin soon returned to the tent, LaFleur staring at him the whole way back. Goodwin entered, said, "Mr. Alpert wanted to apologize again. It's gonna be a few more minutes. You guys want any more coffee?"

LaFleur shook his head numbly. Miles just stared. What the hell was going on? Goodwin sat down with his book, took up a new sheet of paper, began folding it. LaFleur watched the kid very closely. Who the hell was this kid? LaFleur knew him! He had to -- in the present (or future, or whatever). Miles would've bet his next paycheck on it.

Goodwin held up his newest creation -- a lopsided, shapeless lump. He tossed it to the ground in disgust. "I'll never figure it out! It shouldn't be so hard to make a rose." LaFleur kept staring, dumbly but intently. Goodwin looked up at him. "You think all girls really like flowers? What about your wife? Does she like flowers?"

"Uh, well . . . uh . . ." LaFleur cleared his throat. "I, uh, I never ... well, never really. . ." Oh, for fuck's sake! LaFleur, master liar, couldn't answer this one? Hell, if he doesn't know whether Juliet likes flowers (and how can he _not_ know that?) can't he at least come up with a good lie?

At least he was only talking to a kid who didn't catch on that something was amiss. Goodwin asked, "What does she like?"

LaFleur hung his head, clasped his hands. He sighed deeply. After an extended pause, he raised his head and looked the kid straight in the eye. "She likes it when you're nice to her." Goodwin nodded. _No duh_, thought Miles. _Thanks, LaFleur, for that stunning piece of advice._ The kid seemed to agree with Miles' assessment because he shrugged off the advice, and quickly turned back to his papers.

LaFleur grabbed one of Goodwin's shoulders, firmly but gently. "I'm serious, kid, Be nice to her, OK? Just treat her right." Goodwin nodded again, swallowed hard, and had a look in his eye that said, "Who the hell is this crazy Dharma love guru?"

Miles couldn't believe it. What was up with LaFleur? Luckily, Alpert stuck his head in the tent at just that moment. "So sorry to keep you waiting, gentlemen. Shall we begin?"

Half an hour later and they were on their way back to Dharmaville, trudging through the jungle. LaFleur answered Miles' queries with monosyllables and grunts. They reached the fence, got back in the van, and started the bumpy journey home. Safely out of the creepy jungle, Miles felt more brazen.

"So you knew that Goodwin kid? Or will know him?"

"Nope."

"Oh, bullshit. When Alpert said his name, it was like someone dropped a bucket of ice over your head."

"Whatever you say." LaFleur kept his averted, staring out the passenger side window.

"He's the guy you killed, isn't he? The guy that took Wilt off the raft?"

"Walt."

"Yeah, whatever. You just met the guy you're gonna kill in 25 years. Creepy, dude."

"Nope, that was someone else," LaFleur protested.

"Uh huh, sure."

"I'm telling you, Miles. I never laid eyes on Goodwin till this morning."

"Fine." Miles wasn't going to push it anymore, but how obvious was it? LaFleur was fricking lying through his teeth.

Horace waved them down as soon as they entered Dharmaville. "Jim. Got a minute to talk about this morning?"

Miles had an idea. "I'll take the van back to the motorpool, deal with the paperwork." Jim got out of the van, headed off with Horace to the main office.

Miles returned the van and sought out Juliet, rolling a new load of tires into the storage shed. "Hey, Jules. Wanna come over for lunch? Kimberly made cookies last night. So, sandwich and a dessert?" She agreed.

Next, he found Jin, staring at security monitors. "Hey, Jin, come home for lunch. I'm gonna do grilled cheese."

And it worked like a charm. It took no time to find out LaFleur was lying. Miles still had no clue who this Goodwin was, but at least he knew LaFleur couldn't get one past him.

"What was James lying to you about, Miles?" Juliet asked.

"This kid was babysitting us in the Hostiles' camp. James got all buddy-buddy with the kid, you know how he does. Then Alpert calls the kid Goodwin, and you'd of thought James was talking to a ghost, which . . . I mean, technically, he was. Right, Jin?"

Jin just shook his head, not wishing to be reminded of the dead body he'd seen.

Miles turned to Juliet. "So, what's the deal? Who's this Goodwin?"

"Goodwin and I," she started, stopped. "We were, we were . . ." she trailed off. Jin looked at her, eyes wide. Miles totally got what she meant. Normally, he might have tried to be an ass. "We were WHAT?" he would say, and she'd have to come right out and say it. But, in addition to being slightly scared of Juliet, he genuinely liked her. This was obviously painful. He let it slide. "I see," he said.

Jin said, "I am sorry, Juliet."

* * *

It's not that dinner was awkward. She told him about trying to wrangle a new load of tires at work today. A cute little story with no real point. No, dinner wasn't awkward, but it wasn't quite right, either. From the minute he walked in the door this evening, he knew something was up. He'd been home for an hour now, and she'd not once mentioned his morning trip to the Hostiles. He didn't go past the fence all that often, and when he did, he was usually bombarded with questions as soon as he crossed the threshold. "Did they try anything underhanded? And you felt safe the entire time? Richard was there? You're OK?" Tonight . . .nothing. It was if he'd had a normal, non-Hostile, Dharma day.

Fucking Miles, he thought. No, on second thought, fucking LaFleur. He should have just told Miles the truth. Then, Curious George wouldn't have come straight back here and tattled to Juliet. If he'd only told Miles the truth . . .

He knew she knew. And he knew she knew he knew she knew. Whatever. They both knew what was up, and neither was going to say a thing about it.

They finished dinner, and James gathered the dishes to begin cleaning up. He was filling the sink with water and felt like he was being watched. He turned to see her leaning against the doorframe. "What was he like?" she asked.

Who? Alpert? He thought of saying. But, no, no sense in playing that game. He turned off the water, turned to face her directly. "He was just a kid, Juliet. Kind of sweet, actually." He shook his head. "I didn't know whether to feel sorry for the poor bastard for how things are gonna end up or jealous of him for sleeping with you. Then, he started asking about girls and what do they like, and . . .shit, time travel's a bitch."

They stared at each other for a beat. James continued. "He was making origami."

Juliet smiled, sadly and fondly, "He gave me an origami grasshopper once."

James laughed. "Guess he never figured out the rose."

She looked at him, confused. "Nevermind," he said. "Just something he was working on."

* * *

She was glad they talked about it. She had always wondered when Goodwin got here. He'd been in the Peace Corps, that much she knew, and he knew enough about the mainland that she figured he'd spent most of his life there. On the other hand, he knew so much about the Island . . . So, he was here as a kid? She'd always wondered.

It was nice to have it out in the open, but weird, too. There was something . . . off … with James. In bed that night, reading, she finally asked, "Everything OK?"

"Fine," he grumped.

"Clearly not fine," she retorted. "What's up?"

He turned to her, evaluated whether it was worth arguing over, decided to go ahead and answer. "I guess I'm just jealous."

"Of an eleven-year-old boy?" she laughed. "You think I'm gonna go all Mary Kay LeTorneau?"

"It ain't that," he said. "It's just, I guess it bugs me to think of you being with other guys."

"All four of them?" she was incredulous. "That's rich coming from you of all people, James."

That had been a drunken bunkhouse conversation, when they'd been here less than a month. They'd all traded their "numbers." She distinctly remembered James saying "Hell, I got no clue how many women I slept with. Couple hundred, I guess."

And as to her answer of "Four," James had scoffed. "Four!! Oh, horseshit. Have you looked at yourself? So, where you're from – are the men there old or gay?"

"It's Miami, so a little bit of both." And they'd all laughed, because, really, who cared how many people any of them slept with? Why in the world would it intimidate her that he'd slept with hundreds of women and she'd only slept with four men? Until it did intimidate her – a lot. Still did, as a matter of fact, and here he had the gall to say _he_ was jealous of the men _she'd_ been with???

He asked her now, "How long did you sleep with him? Goodwin?"

"I don't know," she answered. "A year? Year and a half?"

"See, that's just it. What you and I got, I ain't never had this before, and it's like special and important to me. But you done it before. How do I know this ain't gonna end up any different than with those other four guys?"

She tried to make light of it. "Well, Edmund got hit by a bus, and Goodwin got impaled by Ana Lucia. You better hope it ends different for you!"

He wasn't in the mood for joking. "That's not what I mean, and you know it. It bothers me that you had something meaningful with them."

That was sweet, but she didn't want to delve too deeply. Hadn't he had something meaningful with Kate? "Well, if you must know," she finally said, "it bothers me that you've slept with hundreds of women."

He thought on that for awhile, responded, "It bothers me that you decided it was OK to keep me in a cage and torture me."

"It bothers me that you treated me like the Wicked Witch of the West when I showed up at the beach."

"I was right about that, you know."

"You were," she conceded.

He reached out to hold her hand. "Sorry I'm bein' a baby. This is all new for me, you know?"

"I know," she answered softly. "You know I love you, right?"

**Lame end point, now ya'll just imagine they have hot sex. **


	11. To Stay or Not to Stay

He had three days. Not even that much time, really. The sub left in three days, and if he wasn't on it, he wouldn't be back on the mainland in time to stop his parents' deaths. What started out as a parlor game ("If you could go back, what would you try to change?") became more tangible as 1975 turned to 1976, and now, early July 1976, had a real sense of urgency. Three days, and he still couldn't decide.

Juliet had been no help. When he flat-out asked her what she thought, her answer had been just right. The perfect answer: "James, more than anything, I want you to stay here. But that's just selfishness. I will not make this decision for you. I'm not having that on my conscience." Perfect, reasonable, and thoughtful. And absolutely no help whatsoever.

Jin and Miles were no better. "It must be your decision, James," said Jin every time James asked him for an opinion. "Yeah, but what if it were you, what would you do?" James would prod. And, dammit, Jin would say, "But it is not me, James." Maddening!!

Miles was the only one of James' three confidantes to have a firm opinion. Which would have been great, except that opinion changed about every third day. "I've been thinking about it, LaFleur, you really should go. Shit, man, the ability to prevent your parents' deaths? _Of course_ you should go." And then a few days later: "Forget what I said the other day. You know, Faraday may be a nutcase, but I don't think he's ever been wrong. What happened, happened, man. Going back isn't gonna stop anything. May make it worse, you know?" So, hell, James wasn't leaving this life-altering important decision to the whims of Miles Straume.

Last night had been just another example of the stomach-dropping rollercoaster his mind was on. Right after dinner, he'd been notified of some breach in the perimeter. Probably (as usual) a false alarm, but protocol required the entire perimeter be searched. So off he went (with Jin) in a counterclockwise loop. Six mind-numbing hours, including a brief but powerful downpour shortly after midnight, upon which he cursed the fucking idiot who'd come up with this asinine perimeter-searching protocol. That _he_ was the fucking idiot who'd come up with this asinine perimeter-searching protocol didn't make it any better.

And so, soaked to the bone, tired, bored, he thought, "That's it! I'm out of here. Even if it's only a month or so, I need a break. Damn this place! Damn it all."

He crept into his house shortly after 1, showered, and slipped into bed. Juliet stirred in her sleep, hugged him tight, and murmured, "Everything OK?"

"Yeah, just another damn false alarm," he grumped.

"Well, I'm glad you're home safe." She squeezed a little tighter and kissed him lightly on the shoulder. He didn't want to be that sleazy guy who comes home, wakes up his soundly snoozing wife, and demands to be serviced, but she seemed maybe a _little_ awake . . . He kissed her forehead, leaving his lips on her warm skin longer than strictly necessary. If she stayed asleep, fine, he was pretty beat himself. But, her eyes popped open. "Got something on your mind, big boy?" she false-mocked him.

"Mmmmm hmmm." And while they made love, he changed his mind – again. Sure, poor eight-year-old Jimmy Ford was about to have his life come crashing in around him, only to be followed by nearly three decades of abject misery. But?? But if this was the reward he got for making it through that . . . well, how could he deprive Jimmy Ford of one day falling in love with Juliet Burke?

His alarm jarred him awake shortly after 9. The one benefit of a late night (besides a middle-of-the-night sex romp) was a late morning. Juliet was long out of the house. Still not enough sleep, but maybe today would be an easy day. And despite last night's certainty that first, he'd go back instead of ever having to walk the Dharma perimeter again, and that second, he'd stay behind in order to ensure spending the rest of his life with Juliet . . .well, all that certainty had faded, and he still didn't know what to do.

Last night wasn't the first night of bad sleep he'd had lately. For the past several weeks, as this huge decision weighed on his mind, he'd tossed and turned. His nightmares returned. He'd dream of his mother, frantically ordering him under the bed. She said she loved him. "I love you too, Mommy." Like he was saying goodbye or something. Like he knew what was coming next. Why had he said that? Why did he give up? He woke in a cold sweat, and Juliet would be there, shushing, smoothing the hair on his forehead, reminding him it was all a bad dream.

Weeks of no sleep weren't helping him make a well-reasoned decision. Three days left. Not even that. Shit. What to do? He plodded into the bathroom, decided today was a day for a shave. He pulled the shaving cream from the medicine cabinet behind the mirror, set it on the sink counter. He put on the water, held his palms under the warmth, and raised them to his face, in the process knocking the shaving cream can onto the floor. "Sonofabitch," he growled, looking at the floor. The canister had knocked over the bathroom wastebasket.

He briefly considered leaving it all there, but his better nature won out. Nasty, he thought, daintily picking up used floss and crumpled wads of tissue. If they weren't his, they were Juliet's, and it wasn't as if they didn't share bodily fluids, but . . . just something gross about bathroom trash. He set the wastebasket upright to dump the detritus in, but there, at the bottom of the trash . . . "What the fuck?" he actually muttered aloud. A white box, black, unornamented letters "Dharma Initiative Pregnancy Test." All qualms of digging through bathroom trash abated, he scrabbled through . . . two more identical boxes. Two of the boxes were empty. The third held a tiny plastic stick. He pulled it out (all qualms of bodily fluids completely out of mind), looked at the results window, looked at the instructions on the box . . .

"Shit," his knees weakened, and he fell onto the toilet seat. He looked again, double checked against the box. He dumped the trash out onto the floor, searching for the two missing sticks. Nowhere to be found. "Shit," he whispered again. She was pregnant?

So his first thought? He didn't want to admit it, but, yeah . . . "I've got an unimpeachable escape clause. I just leave on that sub, just like I been saying I might. Ain't no one gonna fault me for trying to keep my parents from dying." But as soon as that thought flashed through his brain, he felt disgusted and angry at himself. How could he even think that? But, shit? This? He wasn't ready for this. And how the hell did it happen? She was like a freaking Nazi about birth control. In the many ways this island messed with her head, that was issue #1.

She must have taken these tests after he left for his perimeter patrol. Why didn't she say something last night? They'd been awake – more than awake. That was OK, right? Having sex? He supposed she was the expert, so . . .

He kept the positive stick, for evidence. He straightened up the bathroom, put on his jumpsuit, slid the stick in his breast pocket, headed out the front door and straight for the garage. He looked in the few repair bays, the storage shed, finally found Juliet seated at a table in the back corner of one of the repair bays.

"Watcha workin' on?" he'd start out light.

She blew a raspberry. "Paperwork. You know the sub that came in on Thursday?" (_yeah_, he thought, _the one that may take me away from here day after tomorrow_). He nodded. She went on, "Well, we got 16 boxes of Jeep spare parts. Guess who gets to spend the day inventorying them?"

His first emotion, to his surprise, was relief. He didn't want her elbow-deep in motor grease or operating a blow torch or laid out under a jacked-up VW van. That couldn't be safe, could it? Wait. . . what made him think that? He didn't want this – hadn't asked for this – why should he care how safe her job was? Except he did.

He looked into her eyes. "Everything OK? Anything on your mind?" he led.

He saw her briefly register surprise before she recovered complete control of her expression. "I'm not the one who has a big, life-altering decision to make," she stated.

So, what? She wasn't making any decisions? She'd made up her mind? She was keeping it, right? He hoped. Wait . . . where did that come from? Wouldn't it make things much simpler if she made the other decision? He sighed heavily, dropped his head to his hands.

She reached out across the table, held his hands in hers. "Hey," she said. "Three days. In three days, you'll have decided one way or the other, and it will be over. You'll make the right choice."

"And you ain't got anything to tell me to help me out?" he tried to keep his anger in check, but it was at the surface. If we're gonna have a kid, don't you think I should know?? That's what he wanted to yell, but not with all these grease monkeys wandering around.

She just looked at him with that damn poker face and shook her head. "It's your decision, James."

He did what he could not to storm off. He spent the day in a funk. He could feel the slight pressure of the pregnancy test against his heart all day. What the fuck was he gonna do? That night, he gave her every leading opportunity to spill the beans. No dice. Then it dawned on him. She wasn't going to say a thing until he'd made up his mind. For months, she'd said it was his decision. She didn't want it on her conscience. So, now, with this huge news . . . of course she didn't want to sway his decision. Too late for that, he thought – although he wasn't sure if he was going to use this news as an excuse to flee or as a reason to stay. Fine, he'd stop pressing. Now he just had to make a decision.

The next day, driving Miles and Jin out to the Orchid, he blanked his mind as they bounced their way through the jungle. "Uh, LaFleur?" It was Miles in the backseat. "Missed the turn back there." Shit. He backed up the Jeep and turned off on the path to the Orchid. "Everything OK?" Miles asked.

Sawyer stopped the Jeep. Turned back to Miles, looked over at Jin in the passenger seat. Jin spoke first. "You are still deciding whether to leave tomorrow?"

"Yeah," he admitted. "And it's gotten a lot more complicated." He reached inside his jumpsuit breast pocket, and pulled out the stick he'd been carrying around for more than a day. "Juliet's pregnant." Saying those words out loud . . . he felt almost proud.

Miles let out a low whistle. Jin just stared. So, Sawyer continued, "I mean, I don't even really know how it's possible. You know how she is . . ."

"Is she on the pill?" Miles asked,

"None of your business, Bonzai," Sawyer shot back.

"I'm just saying, the pill is only like 99.9% effective, so, you know . . ."

"You serious?" Sawyer asked.

"Yeah, man, look at the box sometime. So, that means, like one time out of a thousand, chick's gonna get knocked up. You think you guys have done it a thousand times?"

Again, that was none of Miles' damn business, but . . . He thought, they'd been together, what? A year and a half? Not quite that? Maybe a little more than 500 days, so like twice a day? Well . . . that wasn't completely out of the realm of possibility. Of course, there were plenty of days of no sex, but then those rainy weekends probably made up for them. Yeah, maybe they had done it a thousand times.

"Maybe," he finally admitted.

Jin shook his head. Miles hooted. "Damn, man. I was kind of kidding. A thousand times? I never pictured Juliet . . ."

"Watch it man," Sawyer warned.

"Maybe whatever happened, happened." Jin now piped in.

"Whattaya mean?"

"What if this was supposed to happen? What if it always happened? Then nothing you did or did not do would prevent it?"

Miles snarked, "I can think of one thing that would surely prevent it, but it seems as though you two . . ."

"Shut it, Miles," Sawyer snapped.

"Sorry," Miles admitted. Silence in the Jeep as the three men contemplated Faraday and whatever happened, happened, and what the heck they were doing here anyway. Miles broke the silence. "What if it's someone we know?" Noticing James and Jin's perplexed looks, Miles explained, "If this always happened, and this kid was always born in 1977, maybe it's someone we know. Hey . . . what if it was that freaking annoying dude? The one that got a flaming arrow to his chest?"

"Frogurt???" Sawyer sputtered. "Hell, no! It ain't Frogurt!"

"Why not?" Miles asked, "He's about the right age, light-headed dude. . ."

"Because he's an asshole who called me an inbred, for one thing."

"I believe that's what's known as irony – calling your own father an inbred."

"It ain't Frogurt." Sawyer declared. They'd already wasted ten minutes sitting here debating this issue. His kid was not Frogurt, dammit. Time for them to get going again. He started up the Jeep and headed for the Orchid.

It wasn't Frogurt, because his kid – their kid – would perhaps be an asshole, Sawyer couldn't deny that. But he wouldn't be a whiny brat. He wouldn't be an incapable, scrawny jackass. No, their kid would be a smart mouth, but tall, good looking, good to have around in tough times, and calm under pressure. In his mind, it was a little boy. He could picture him smiling up at him – maybe he'd have Juliet's huge, blue eyes, but none of the under-the-surface sadness that his parents shared. No, he'd make sure his son was really and truly happy, and utterly, totally loved.

Imagining it, he knew. By the time they reached the Orchid he knew. The family he'd once had – for as short a time as he'd had it – was past saving. He had a new family now, and they needed him. Hell if he knew how they needed him, but whatever it was, he'd be there for them – or try his best to be.

That night he patiently sat through dinner. He cleaned up after then joined Juliet on the couch, and put a hand on her knee. She closed her book, leaving an index finger to mark her place. He gently took the book from her, set it on the floor, face down to save her place. At that, she looked at him seriously. She knew something was up.

"I'm staying here," he said.

He watched emotions flicker across her face – relief, joy, sadness in equal measures. When she regained some measure of control, she spoke. "A part of me wants to jump up and down and do a jig, but somehow that seems inappropriate. Oh, James . . . that poor boy . . ." Tears filled her eyes.

He took her hand. "I know. But I ain't making this decision lightly. It's . . . there's no guarantees out there. Why take a chance and mess up what's good here, you know?"

She nodded, blinked back tears, and threw her arms around his neck. He let her hug him close for awhile, then pushed her away, slightly. "So, now your turn," he said. "What's new to share?"

Like at the garage, he noticed a brief glimpse of surprise, before she recovered and said, "You really want to hear about the new doofus we've got working at the garage?"

No. He wanted her to tell him what he already knew. So he could start listing out all his fears and anxieties and hopes and wishes. So he didn't have to hold it all in anymore. It dawned on him, though, that she wasn't going to say a word until that sub was good and gone. She didn't want to spook him.

_But I know about the baby_! He wanted to shout. He could tell how that would go. She wasn't ready to tell, so she'd get defensive, they'd fight. That's not how he wanted this to go. He could wait. Besides, sitting so close on the couch, the relief of this decision made, the always intoxicating smell of her hair . . .He ducked his head down, sought her mouth, and kissed her. The kiss quickly deepened, and he pushed her back onto the couch. He reached his hands under her shirt, but decided not to do this here. Not on the couch, not where they could get too involved and fall off (hey, it had happened before . . .). He didn't want to be responsible for anything unsafe. He lead her back to the bedroom.

The next afternoon, he stood at the dock, watching the sub sink beneath the water. He had no regrets. He wondered if his choice would be different without the baby, but somehow he doubted it.

"Everything OK?" He turned towards the words and was surprised to see that Juliet beside him. She took his hand, lifted it to her mouth for a kiss.

"Actually, yeah," he said. He nodded. Time to get on with life instead of living in the past (rich words, all things considered).

The sub was gone. She was free to tell him. He looked to her, looked deep into her eyes. He wanted her to tell him now. He kind of thought of the dock as "their spot," and this would somehow be fitting. She opened her mouth to speak. "Want a lift?" She gestured to the van waiting. Whereupon he saw a handful of Dharma drones packing new supplies into the van's backseat. He supposed it best to wait and hear the news in private.

They had no fellow passengers on the van ride back to the barracks, but the ride passed mostly in silence. Maybe the ride wasn't long enough. They went their separate ways back in Dharmaville. Tonight, he thought. He couldn't wait.

He even came home early. She was stepping out of the bathroom, freshly showered and out of her blue jumpsuit into jeans and a flattering top. Mmmmmmm. . . her shampoo, always her shampoo. She smiled, asked "Still OK with everything?" and he eagerly nodded yes. She kissed him hello, and turned to start cooking dinner. He sat at the table in the kitchen, watching her. "Not used to an audience, James," she pointed out.

"I know," he said. "Just want to be together." She smiled kindly, kissed him again, went back to chopping onions. And then mushrooms, peppers, preheating the oven . . . damn woman, let's just talk! She walked by the table, and he grabbed her hand.

"Hey," he said. "What's up? I need you to tell me what's up. What's going on?"

She looked shocked. "Is it that obvious? I thought I was doing a good job of hiding it."

Well, he saw the evidence in the trashcan, but he'd take credit for being able to suss out her hidden moves. "Can't hide from me, sweetheart," he said.

She smiled, genuinely and warmly, but she let go of his hand, and went back to chopping peppers.

"Juliet. Tell me."

She set down the knife and wiped her hands on her jeans. She walked to the table, began to sit down, thought better of it, walked to the kitchen window, looked out, walked back to the table, sat. She looked pale, unsure, worried. He took her hands in his. "Tell me, sweetheart. It'll be OK, I promise."

"OK. Please promise you won't tell anyone, OK? Especially Miles."

He fought to keep the grin off his face. Miles already knows, sweetheart. "Miles is no dummy. He'll figure it out soon enough." Hell, all of Dharmaville would know soon enough. They couldn't hide it forever. He felt such pride. He actually imagined her with a little belly then a huge one, and how proud he'd be that she was having his kid. And everyone would know it.

She seemed to ignore his comment about Miles figuring it out. Instead, she took a deep breath and started talking. "Miles' birthday's in July, right?"

"Uhhhhh. . . yeah, comin' up in a few weeks. Right." The hell?

"His birthday is July 1977," she recited.

"Ohhhhkayy. . ."

"The other night when you had to patrol the perimeter?" He nodded. "After you left, Lara Chang came over. She thought she might be pregnant, and wanted to take a test, and she didn't want to do it alone. . . Pierre was working late, and plus she didn't want him to know yet. . . anyway, I did the math in my head, and knew it couldn't be positive. But it was! I. . . I . . . I couldn't believe it. I ran over to the commissary and bought two more tests. They were both positive, too."

He just stared. He. . . he. . . wait, what? He had no response.

She kept on. "Don't you see? That baby is due in April. It can't be Miles. In fact, there are two outcomes: she has a miscarriage – soon – and gets pregnant again right away. That's. . . well, a miscarriage is awful anywhere, but here?? I don't want to think of it. No one has had a miscarriage in the two years we've been here. What if this is the start of it, James? But somehow, the other option is worse. This baby comes in April, and that means – no Miles. And that scares the shit out of me. What does it mean? Have we changed something? Will Miles just cease to exist? I'm so frightened, James."

He finally found his voice. "Lara Chang? In our bathroom?"

She looked confused, but nodded.

"Our bathroom?" he asked again. It was all he could say, all he could think.

"James, you're missing the forest for the trees here."

"It's just. . ." he started, cleared his throat. Started again. "Our bathroom??"

"Oh, for Christ's sake," she said, exasperated. "If I knew you were so proprietary we'd have done it somewhere else."

"Well, why here? Why not her own bathroom?"

She threw up her hands, thoroughly annoyed. "I think she didn't want to leave any trash. She didn't want Pierre to see anything. Which is paranoid, if you think about it. Who roots around in the bathroom trash?"

He reached into his breast pocket, pulled out the stick he'd been carrying around for the last two days, held it up. "Well, me for one," he answered.

She stared, for a second not comprehending what she was seeing. Then, "You realize Lara peed on that thing?"

He immediately set it down, as if it were electrified.

"Ewwwwww! James! Our kitchen table, we eat there! And why the hell are you carrying that thing arou. . ." she bit off the end of her question. Her eyes widened, he hands flew to her mouth. "Oh! Oh my God. You thought I. . . you thought. . ."

"Hell, yeah, I thought."

"My God, James. You know how careful I am. You know how scared this Island makes me . . . It scares me so much, I'm a mechanic for crying out loud!"

"Yeah, well Miles said . . ."

"Miles???"

He ignored her, went on, "Yeah, Miles. He said the pill's only like 99.9% effective, so every thousand times you have sex, the woman's gonna get pregnant."

"It does not mean that!" she practically shouted. "It means every time you have sex, there's a one one-thousandth of a chance. Every time! The odds don't change the more you have sex, you lunkhead!"

Two plus years. He'd known her two years and change, and not once. Not when she kept him locked in a cage, not when he was the outcast bad boy of the Oceanic survivors. Never. Never had she treated him like an idiot. She'd always treated him as an equal. To hear her call him "lunkhead," mere moments after telling him he wasn't going to be a daddy after all? Well, fuck her! Nice of her to think she's so much smarter about statistics. He was furious. He shouldn't have said what he said next, because he didn't really mean it:

"Well, damn. I stayed here thinkin' I was doin' the right thing. Not that I was ready for this. Not that I even wanted it, but I woulda done the right thing. I woulda met my obligations."

"Your obligations??" she spat. But suddenly her lip quivered and her eyes filled with tears. "Your obligations to something you don't even _want_? You know what, James? That's not something you've got to worry about. Not as long as we're here anyway. So, don't worry your pretty little head." She blinked back tears, but one escaped, rolled down her cheek. She wiped it away. She stood up, straight and tall. When she spoke, her voice dripped sarcasm. "And I'm sooooo sorry you've had to worry the past few days."

With that, she stormed out of the kitchen, and out the front door. He heard the door slam behind her, and he spoke to the empty house. "I wasn't worried. I was excited."


	12. Making Up

**Thanks for the reviews, everyone. They really do mean a lot to know people are still enjoying. Sorry I didn't reply, I've just been trying to get this over and done with. Two more chapters, I think?**

She stormed out of the house with very little idea or plan of where to go next. Three days this had been weighing on her head. She really wanted to work it out, come to terms with it, but then James seemed to know, and unburdening herself to him felt so good. Until she realized that talking to him was like talking to a wall. He was being so obtuse. What was his deal with the bathroom? Why wasn't he listening to her? Why didn't he see what the big deal was?

And when she figured out exactly why he wasn't listening, why he didn't see what the big deal was . . . well, that was just one blow too many. "Not that I even wanted it," rang and rang in her ears. _Well, not that I want it, either_, she thought. It's Maternal Death Island after all. Or was. Or will be. Whatever. There were times, though, when stuck waxing the vans or changing an air filter, or something tedious, her mind would wander, and she'd imagine one day escaping here and what life would be like then.

"Not that I even wanted it." Of course not.

How? How had she fooled herself into believing there was more to this – could be more to this – than what they had now? They were just here. Stuck. Waiting. Waiting for Locke. Waiting for Faraday. Waiting for _them _to come back. James was the worst of them, with his endless grid searches and his "buck up, campers" attitude, especially to Jin. And, hell, while he was stuck waiting, why not bang the chick he was purportedly married to? A lot easier than trying to keep up his cover story with the bevy of Dharma babes always batting their eyelashes at him.

_What a dope you are, Juliet. How could you have fallen for it – again?_ At least this time around she had the consolation that she'd been duped by a pro.

Her legs propelled her, unbidden, to Miles and Jin's front door. She pounded on it, and Jin opened up. "Mind if I come in?" she asked, and didn't wait for an answer. Jin closed the door behind her. "Got anything to drink? Rum? Vodka? Anything?"

"Do you think that is a good idea?" Jin asked. "I mean . . ."

She rolled her eyes, exasperated. Had James told _everyone_? "I'm not pregnant, Jin."

"But James said. . ."

"Lara Chang is pregnant, not me."

Jin's eyebrows knit together. He looked off to the side. He was calculating. "But Miles is not born until one year from now."

"Thank you! Thank you! James just would not get that!" she practically shouted. "Miles isn't here is he?"

Jin shook his head, and turned immediately for the liquor cabinet. He poured a glass of tequila for each of them, and Juliet explained all she knew and all she was worried about. Jin was appropriately worried. She finished her glass, held it out for another. Jin tipped the bottle neck up and began to pour when Miles walked in the front door.

"Hey, what's going on here?" he asked. He turned to Juliet. "Tequila? I know you're supposed to be an expert and all, but are you sure that's good for . . ."

'Not pregnant, Miles." She took a sip of her second glass.

"But James said . . ."

Juliet's eyes flew to Jin's in alarm. She'd not come up with a way to tell Miles yet. Jin covered smoothly. "It turns out James does not know how to read a pregnancy test properly." Ooooh, Jin, you smooth liar, you. She winked at him.

Miles took a glass, held it out, and Jin poured him a drink too. Miles said, "So, how'd he take the news? Pretty disappointed, huh?"

She stared at Miles for a second. _You know, Miles, let me have a few more of these tequilas. Maybe then you can be all sarcastic and make fun of how NOT DISAPPOINTED he was._ Miles kept on, though, and each word was like a stake to the heart. Why did Miles have to be such a God damn cynic? "Oh, yeah. I'm trying to remember all he babbled on about during our shift this morning. Like how he was sure it was a boy, and you guys would have to work pretty hard to keep him from being a total wise ass, and how he was gonna shoot hoops with him when he got old enough. Where he thought was a good place to put up a basket."

"He told me the flat space behind our house would be good," Jin added.

"He told you this, too?" she asked him. Miles had just a cruel enough streak to go on and on about all the fictitious things James had said about their fictitious child. Jin did not have such a cruel streak . . .

"Yes," said Jin. Noting her curious look, he tried to clarify. "I think it is probably because you are both tall. Your son would be tall, too."

She turned now to Miles. "Hold up a second here. You weren't kidding? He said all that?"

"Yeah. Why? What'd he tell you?"

"He told me he didn't want it, and if he absolutely had to, he'd 'meet his obligations.'"

"Figures," said Miles. "Remember when Horace was going to get a bunch of dogs?"

Jin laughed at the memory. "James was so excited. Remember he got so many books about dog breeds and house breaking?"

Miles added, "Then Ann Arbor told Horace he was batshit crazy. NO WAY were they putting a bunch of dogs on that submarine. And how did James react to that bit of news?"

Juliet recalled. "I believe his exact words were, "Good. Last thing I want to deal with on this fucking rock is stepping in a pile of dog shit.'"

Miles nodded. "See? He does not handle disappointment well. At all."

"He still has all those dog books in the back of the closet, you know." She held out her empty glass. "Fill me up, Jin."

She'd missed it. Totally missed it. _Of course_ that was how he acted when he didn't get what he wanted. He lashed out. It had just been so long since she was on the receiving end of the lashing . . . she could usually read him so well. She was so preoccupied with worry for Lara, and for Miles – she'd completely missed it. She took a sip of her third glass of tequila, but noted she was feeling a bit lightheaded. She set the glass down. "Thanks, guys. I think I'll head home now."

She opened her front door and was met with a wonderful aroma from the kitchen. "Something smells nice," she started, hoping that was benevolent enough to at least get them started on the right foot.

He was sitting at the table eating. "Well, you'd chopped up all those veggies, so I made spaghetti. There's extra if you want."

She served herself, and joined him at the table. "This means you gotta clean up, you know," he remarked. She nodded. They ate in silence for awhile. She didn't feel like she needed to apologize. _He_ was the one who said such hurtful things. Even if he didn't mean them.

Finally, he spoke. "Did it ever occur to you that Miles might not know his real birthday? We been here two years. Think of all the stuff he's found out was a lie. What his dad's name was. What his dad did for a living. How his parents met. Where he was born. There's probably more. What makes you think his birthday's any different? For all we know, he really was born in April."

Huh. That . . . actually, that made perfect sense. Could James be right? How wonderful if he was! There would be no way to know for sure, until April at least, but even so, she felt a huge weight lifting. There was a practical, logical answer to all this, an answer that didn't involve miscarriage or maternal death or the end of Miles. Oh, thank you, James. How wonderful! Thank you for helping. She realized she was just sitting there, dumbfounded and speechless.

James laughed. "You mean to tell me that never even crossed your mind? You been thinkin' on this for three days and you never came up with that?" She shook her head. He went on, "Who's the lunkhead, now, huh?"

She placed a hand on his forearm. "I'm so sorry I called you a lunkhead. I didn't mean it."

"I know," he said. "I'm sorry, well, I'm sorry for what I said, too."

She squeezed his arm. There, that hadn't been too bad. She hated the things they'd said to each other, but none of it was too terrible. She still felt a little like walking on eggshells, though. "I'll get to these dishes," she said, standing up to clear the table.

When she finished in the kitchen, she found him sitting in his chair, reading, and she came to sit on his lap. She rested her head on his shoulder and snuggled in close. He finished his page before setting down his book and pressing his face to the top of her head. He was always smelling her hair, a habit she found endearing.

"It's something we ain't never really talked about," he said, and she knew what he meant, but she didn't say anything. So, he went on. "I wasn't totally lyin', about not wanting it. I mean, I never wanted it, you know? Not sure I do now, even. But when I thought it was a done deal? I don't know, it just got me to thinkin' different."

"Mmmm hmmm," she murmured into his neck, all calm and soothing, but her heart was hammering.

"Hell, I known you for two years, Juliet, and I don't got the first clue whether you want kids."

"I never," she started, stopped, started again on a 180. "I always," she paused, considered if this was what she meant – it was, and if she was willing to share with him – she was. "I always pictured this hypothetical future version of me with kids, but I was never with anyone I wanted to share that with." Here she took a deep breath. "Until now." She didn't want to wait to hear the reaction to that sappiness, so she babbled on. "Gosh, even when I was married. Ugh. Edmund would have made a horrible father. So, just my damn luck. I meet the right guy – wrong place, wrong time. In so, so many ways."

He hadn't turned to cold stone. He hadn't stiffened and pushed her away. She wasn't scaring him. Phew. He said, "Jin has this theory that whatever happened, happened."

"Plagiarism!" she exclaimed. "That's Faraday's theory."

"Yeah, well Jin's theory is as to how it applies to us. If we're supposed to have a kid, it doesn't matter what we do or don't do, it'll happen anyway."

She considered that for a moment. "I can think of one thing we can not do . . ."

He laughed. "Miles said the same thing."

"Miles is a smart man."

"So, I don't know," he said. "Whaddaya think? I mean, if it already happened, no point in tryin' to stop it. Wanna just see what happens?"

"No." That came out too quickly, too definitively. "Not yet," she amended. "That's . . . no, I can't take that step, not without a lot of thought. Not here. I just can't."

"I know," he said. "Thought it wouldn't hurt to ask."

She tipped her head up to kiss him on his jaw line. His whiskers tickled and scratched. "I love you," she said.

"Love you, too" he replied.

* * *

She'd started by kissing his jaw line, nuzzling his neck. He rested his head on the back of the chair. What a day. A great sense of relief that the decision was made – his past couldn't be changed, and staying here and accepting that was a wise choice. Another great sense of relief, mixed with a heavy dose of disappointment, that he wasn't gonna be a daddy (again) anytime soon. Probably the worst fight he and Juliet had ever had, but that was easily resolved.

She had stopped kissing his neck and had shifted in the chair to straddle him. He felt his jeans growing a bit too tight as she undid the buttons on his shirt, kissed his chest, his stomach . . .

"Hey," he said. "Ain't this the sort of thing we're not supposed to do? You know, the one thing we can stop doin' if we wanna avoid what happened, happened?"

She looked up at him, smiled. "James, it is my expert medical opinion that what I am about to do has never resulted in pregnancy."

"Carry on, then," he smiled.

She undid the snap on his jeans, unzipped them, and he felt himself spring free of their tightness. She took him in her mouth, and _shit, she can call me a lunkhead everyday and twice on Sunday if this is the apology_. He leaned his head back in the chair, gripped the armrests and moaned.


	13. Waiting

**This is kind of a transition chapter. I'm more excited about what comes next, but this had to go in to get there. I'm trying not to make the chapters too long, or I would have gone ahead and put in the other part.**

He sat next to her on the sofa, his hand lightly placed at the small of her back. She was sitting at the very edge of her seat, hands clasped between her knees. He hoped the small pressure of his hand encouraged her even a little bit.

"You don't gotta do this," he told her last night.

"Someone's got to," she said. "He'll find out soon enough, and I'd rather he not hear through the grapevine."

"I'm just sayin', I can tell him if you want."

"No. I'll do it."

So here she is, telling Miles his mom is pregnant, and she hopes she's pregnant with him, and didn't it make sense that he probably doesn't know his real birthday? Listening to Juliet's soothing, professional, I-know-this-is-not-the-greatest-news-but-let's-try-to-be-optimistic voice, James felt a twinge of regret. Regret that she was here, spending her days working on 1970s motor vehicles instead of accomplishing all the great things she was capable of.

He watched Juliet anxiously – she was getting through this OK, wasn't she? He watched Miles anxiously – he was taking this news with calmness, wasn't he? James struggled to remember a time when he could give a rat's ass what Miles thought about anything or a time when he thought Juliet was a raging, cold-hearted bitch.

"So, Miles," Juliet said, "I think all we can do for now is just wait until the baby's born in April."

Miles nodded, chuckled ruefully. "Just wait. Think I got that waiting part down."

"I know," Juliet agreed, and reached out to pat Miles on the knee.

October and November passed, and Lara was still pregnant. Now the only option was that Miles actually was born in April. Or . . . Well, the "or" wasn't something any of them cared to contemplate too deeply.

December came and went, and James found himself contemplating time at the annual Dharma New Years' party. Another year down. Another year of waiting. He wasn't the only one in a melancholy state of mind. Juliet stood next to him, her eyes fixated on something across the room. He followed her gaze to Lara Chang, sitting with her hands resting on her swollen belly.

"Hey, let's blow this joint," he whispered to Juliet, who nodded without removing her eyes from Lara.

The fresh air felt nice, bracing, but the party music drifting from more than one house, celebration of another year down, another to come, mocked them.

"Nothing you can do now but wait," he said to Juliet, meaning to encourage her.

"I'm so fucking tired of waiting!" she yelled. His eyes widened in surprise, at her curse word or her volume, he didn't know which.

"Well, ain't it bad news if she has the baby now? Too early, right?"

"I mean I'm tired of all of it. Sitting around twiddling our thumbs, laying low . . ."

"It's just I saw ya lookin' at her, I figured . . ."

"I was looking at her because I'm jealous of her, James."

"What are you saying? You saying you want to get pregnant?"

"No," she exclaimed. "Well, yes, but no, not now, not here, that's not what I mean. I mean, I'm jealous that she's living life. Not just waiting endlessly. She's got a future."

"Yeah, a future spent lying to her son. A future without her husband. A future that includes a little thing you call The Purge."

"She doesn't know all that. All she knows is she's living her life, starting a family, thinking of her future."

"What are you saying? What are you trying to tell me?"

"I'm just so tired of waiting. We've been here two and a half years. What are we waiting for? What are _you_ waiting for, James?"

"You wanna leave? Get on the sub for Ann Arbor?"

She could see it in his eyes. If she said "yes," he'd agree, and off they'd go. And he'd spend the rest of his life resenting her. _What I really want_, she thought, _is for you to want to leave with me. _But something, _someone_, was keeping him here, waiting."No," she answered, sighed. "No. We'll wait. It's just New Year's, you know? Just a reminder of all the time that's passing."

"Well, it's '77," he said. "The year of our mysterious disappearance."

"Daniel's journal?" She'd forgotten all about it.

"Been right about everything so far. Ever think that's what I been waiting on, huh? Maybe that's what gets us back to our right time."

"Maybe," she took his hand and led him home.

He lay awake that night, thinking. Juliet had thrown him for a loop. Generally, when it came to emotional/important discussions, she had two default modes. One was super honest, no sense in beating around the bush, no cover up, no fancy words, just the plain, honest truth. The other was a poker-faced emotional stonewall, emotionless, blank, and impenetrable. One or the other, no in-between. She never played that game so many women do when they say one thing but totally mean another, but he got the sense she was doing it tonight. He asked did she want to leave, and she said no. But that didn't seem quite honest. She hadn't shut him down with the poker face, either. So, what was going on?

And, damn, what was he waiting on exactly? What were they doing here? For one thing, this – keeping the four of them safe and keeping a lookout for any of "their" people – was the only good thing James Ford had ever accomplished. Head of Dharma Security? That was satisfying, no doubt, but that was Jim LaFleur, wasn't it? No, keeping the home fires burning, never giving up, keeping his tiny band together, that was his job, and he wasn't going to just give up.

Besides, once he gave up, then what of Jin? If Jin ever wanted to see Sun again, they had to stay right here.

Plus, Locke said he'd be back and he owed it to him to be here, waiting. And if he was bringing the rest of them back with him? Well, hell, James wanted to be around for that! There was a time when just the anticipation of finally seeing Kate again kept him up late, much like a kid waiting for Christmas. What he wanted now was for her and the Doc, _especially_ the Doc, to show up so he could say "See? Y'all just leave us here for two and a half years, but no worries, because I took care of it." And he wanted to see the look on Kate's face when she realized that playing house with him wasn't the God-awful fate she'd made it out to be. What was he waiting on? He was waiting to _show them_, goddammit.

And so they waited. They joked about Daniel's journal. If one of them got stuck late at work, they'd come home, and the other would say, "Phew! I was afraid you'd mysteriously disappeared!" But it was a whistling-in-the-graveyard sort of joking. Daniel had been right about everything so far. Why not this?

In April, the gang thrilled to the news of the arrival of baby Miles Chang. They thought they'd convinced themselves it would all be all right. The communal sigh of relief, their absolute joy at the confirmation belied that. THANK GOD. Miles is going to be OK.

And James even had this anecdote to share. "So, I'm talkin' to Pierre today, and he says, Lara always loved jazz, especially Miles Davis. Always said if she had a kid, she'd wanna name it Miles. But Pierre always says he thinks Miles ain't a good Asian name."

"This from a guy named Pierre," Miles grumped (relief or no, he still was a crank when it came to his folks).

"Yeah, well, apparently you show up nearly three years ago, and Lara says, 'He's Asian, and his name is Miles.' Basically convinces Pierre to do it if they ever have a boy."

"You were kind of named for yourself, Miles!" Juliet giggled.

That night they got drunk on relief and red wine. And still they waited. . .

The spring turned to summer, as much as there was any change of season on this damned rock, and still they waited. . .

Early July came and they made plans to celebrate Miles' thirtieth birthday. There'd been discussion of celebrating on his "real" birthday, but they decided two Asians named Miles with the same birthday, thirty years apart would be suspicious.

Then one day, something happened. James waited anxiously outside the infirmary. Pacing, restless, upset. Jin approached. James updated him on the situation, Jin did likewise, and then Jin asked the first simple question that changed everything. "How long do we look, James?"

Reflexively, James answered, "As long as it takes." _Don't worry, buddy, I ain't gonna let you down. We're here as long as you need us to be. We'll get you back to her, somehow._ A strange look crossed Jin's face. Disappointment? Was Jin, of all people, ready to give up? James needed to ask him more, find out what was going on, but the door to the infirmary opened, and Juliet, flushed, exhausted, shaky, emerged.

The baby was OK. Amy was OK. Juliet was overjoyed. He felt so proud, relieved, happy. And another twinge of regret – this is what she should be doing, not changing air filters. And there was no time to dwell on that, either, because Dawn, the nurse, stepped out and called Juliet back in, just a few wrap-up stuff she needed to finish. "See you at home," she grinned, happier than he'd ever seen her.

"Well, grid 1-3-4," declared Jin, heading off.

"Wait," James said. Jin turned. "You OK with keepin' this up?"

"I'm OK for as long as you are OK," and Jin turned to go.

If Jin was questioning how long they were supposed to wait . . . well the whole equation changed, didn't it? James thought to call him back, put it off, but that decision required a little more thought. Maybe it was time to call an end to the grid search.

And with that on his mind, he trudged to Horace's to tell the poor bastard he missed his son's birth. And Horace asked the second simple question that changed everything. Three years: "Is that really long enough to get over someone?"

James thought. He imagined Juliet disappearing mysteriously. His first answer "Hell, no! Three years? Amy was married to the guy, for crying out loud. I kind of don't see how you _ever_ get over that." But Horace looked so distraught, and James knew that was the wrong answer.

And then he thought of Kate, and he knew the answer was the right one. So he told how he had a girl, lost her, and yeah, absolutely, three years is enough to get over someone. That seemed to be the answer Horace needed. James looked into the distance. It really was, wasn't it? He didn't even care anymore to show her up, prove her wrong, say "look what I've turned into." They were either OK, and good God, he hoped they were, or they weren't. Three years. He'd done his part. Even Jin knew that. Three years. He'd done enough. It was, indeed, time to move on.

Like the weight of the world off his shoulders, he strolled through the courtyard. Maybe tonight he'd tell Juliet that he, too, was tired of waiting. Tomorrow, he'd tell Jin to stop the searches (if Jin wanted). The sub was coming in soon, wasn't it? They could be on it if they wanted to.

Wouldn't that be a mysterious disappearance? All of a sudden, one day, Jim LaFleur, head of Dharma Security, dropped his resignation papers for no reason at all. He and his wife were leaving for Ann Arbor.


	14. Ann Arbor

E.T. was phoning home, and because James first saw this movie more than 20 years ago, he knew exactly how it was going to work out. Even though E.T. had found a home with ELL-EEE-YOT and little Drew Barrymore, he was gonna make that call home, and by the time the movie ended, E.T. would be on his way back to where he belonged. James felt a lump in his throat.

In the darkened movie theater, he reached out to take Juliet's hand, and realized she was reaching for him, too. He knew they were thinking the same thing: they would never get back where they belonged. They'd made their decision and that was that. It would be decades before they got to go to a movie they'd never seen before. She'd never know her nephew, never talk to her sister again. He'd never meet his daughter, now that he actually wished to be a part of her life.

Sure, they joked about it. How a few decades from now they'd stalk Cassidy and Clementine and Rachel and Julian, and then sit across from them at the local Perkins or Shoney's. They'd be the overindulgent elderly couple across the aisle waving and making faces at the misbehaving little boy. They'd be the understanding old folks who said "Oh, no problem" to the little girl's harried mom when her toddler spilt her milk in a puddle at their feet.

But mostly they knew that when they decided to leave the Island, they left behind any chance to do more than that. And that knowledge sometimes hurt. James swallowed the lump in his throat, and squeezed Juliet's hand a little tighter.

But then Elliott and E.T. took off on a bicycle chase, and the movie score rose and soared. Juliet took his hand and placed it on her belly. He could feel the baby kick at each crescendo. James looked over at her, and she looked back, grinning through tears. And the lump in his throat disappeared.

They'd made a choice, and in making that choice, there were things they'd given up, but what they got in return was certainly worth it. And that made the choice a good one.

Their situation was extreme, but not unique. Everyone made choices in life: take this job or that one; ask out this girl or that one; buy this home or that one. And every choice closed off some avenues and opened others. And if you were happy with the avenue you were on, then the stuff you gave up was just a casualty. So you either jumped off a helicopter or stayed seated; rescued a woman with a bag over her head or quietly walked away; got on a sub for Ann Arbor or sat with your thumb up your ass on the Island for another 15 years.

So, James would joke about getting a commercial driver's license and driving a bus over Edmund Burke. They'd stay glued to the news on September 22, 2004 and watch crash coverage with sweaty palms. Elderly stalker fantasies aside, they'd never again see some of the people they most wanted to see. But, yeah, it was worth it.

* * *

It was already snowing when they left the theater. The flakes began falling harder on the drive home and reflected off the headlights in bright pinpricks of white. By the time they reached home, the snow was already sticking the road.

Miles and his new girlfriend, Janine, met them at the door. Miles lived in walking distance, but it was possible he needed to drive Janine back to her off-campus apartment. And as much as James and Juliet were _dying_ to know if Miles and Janine were sleeping together, they weren't going to ask. So, they said good night with no small talk, and sent Miles and Janine on their way.

They closed up the house and watched the snow fall for a bit longer. They made love that night under their thick quilt, and afterwards, lay facing each other in the warmth of their little cocoon. The quilt briefly slipped down to expose James' shoulder, and he quickly covered back up.

When the morning came, he immediately knew snow fell most of the night. He heard no cars on their street, and the lack of the constant, distant hum from the main road less than a mile away made the morning deafeningly silent. He was thrilled it was a Saturday, and Christmas break at that, so he doubted he'd be called in for an extra shift with campus security. He snuggled close to Juliet, reveling in the warmth and blissful silence for 5 . . . 4 . . . 3 . . . 2 . . . 1 . . .

"Mama! Daddy! It snowed! There's snow!"

James knew the silence wouldn't last long, and he was right. Jimmy pounced onto the bed, huge blue eyes alight with excitement. "Let's go make a snowman!"

"How 'bout we just snuggle up for a bit?" James offered.

"Okay!" Jimmy agreed, and snuggled into his mother's back. That lasted about two minutes. "Hey, Mama, can we make snow cream today? And drink hot choclick?"

So much for a warm, quiet morning in bed.

They used blueberry pancakes to hold Jimmy off for a bit. Shortly after 8, Miles knocked at the door, and entered, Janine in tow. James and Juliet made eye contact across the room, raised eyebrows at each other. So, Janine _had s_pent the night at Miles' house.

Janine was a sophomore at the university, and a member of the Michigan dance squad. Frankly, she was way too young for Miles, and James enjoyed giving him shit about it. Two days ago, though, Miles busted out with, "She was born in 1963. Say, James, tell me again, when was your wife born?"

"1971," James answered.

Miles shook his head, whistled, said, "Damn, man. You give me shit about my girlfriend, and your wife's not even a teenager." Miles looked over to Juliet in the next room, Jimmy perched on what little remained of her lap. She was helping him tie his shoes. Miles whistled again, "Not even a teenager. You are one sick fuck."

So, today when Miles and Janine showed up on their doorstep minutes after 8AM, confirming they were sleeping together, James decided to leave it alone. Miles was happy, Janine was hot, eh no skin off his nose.

They couldn't hold Jimmy back any longer, so out they went, for snowball fights and snowman making and sledding and snow angels. At first, James felt slightly guilty Juliet had to stay behind. She couldn't button her winter coat any longer, and they couldn't afford a new one. Well, that wasn't quite true, it's just a new coat wasn't completely necessary, and did not meet with their plans for frugal living. They bought only what they absolutely needed and poured every single extra cent they had into their Microsoft stock portfolio. So she couldn't button up her coat anymore? Well, it kept her warm enough as long as she was just going to/from the car. Still, he felt guilty she couldn't be out playing in the snow.

Or he felt guilty until he felt jealous. Two hours into their morning snow time, and James was chilled to the core. He just knew Juliet was relaxing in front of the fire with a good book, and he was out here freezing his nuts off. Miles didn't look so hot, either. That's what years of living on a tropical island will do to you – thins your blood. And given that Miles, James, and Juliet had grown up in LA, Alabama, and Miami, respectively, it wasn't as though their blood was particularly thick to start with. Janine and Jimmy, on the other hand, were both born and raised in Michigan, and seemed in no hurry to get in out of the cold.

Eventually, though, they, too, were ready to go in for hot chocolate. They stamped off snow boots, and stripped off coats, scarves, gloves, and hats just inside the door. Janine was wearing spandex under her snow pants, and damn . . . she had a fine ass. Phew! James couldn't stop staring. Miles was hitting that? Damn!

James stared a little longer, got an odd sensation, and looked up to see Juliet staring right back at him. "Help me in the kitchen, please James?" Shit. Caught looking.

"Maybe try to be a little subtle when you're staring at another woman's ass," she said when he got into the kitchen. Mental note to self, he thought: DO NOT UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCE STARE AT ANOTHER WOMAN IN FRONT OF YOUR WIFE. Somehow, that seemed important to note and remember.

But Juliet was half smiling at him, so he knew he wasn't completely in the doghouse. He said, "Well, hell, I just don't remember all this spandex the first time around. People always dressed like that in the '70s?"

"First off, it's the '80s, update your references," she lectured. "Second: Yes! Of course they did. Olivia Newton John? Remember? Let's Get Physical?"

"Let's get physical. Now there's something I can get on board with," he said, sidling up behind her and wrapping his arms around her. He kissed her on the neck, more of a tease than anything. In the very next room, they could hear Janine teaching Jimmy the words to the Michigan fight song and then heard Miles grumbling about wet socks. Still, he kept his face planted in the crook of her neck, smelling her hair, feeling her closeness.

The phone rang, startling him from his reverie. It rang again, but he made no move. "You gonna get that?" she asked.

"Probably one of your clients," he murmured into the soft skin of her shoulder. A handful of courses, a few shifts at the hospital, some highly placed Dharma references, and she'd earned her license as a Michigan-certified midwife.

The phone rang again. "Just get it please," she jostled him, and for good measure the baby delivered a swift kick to the palm of his hand.

"All right, all right, stop gangin' up on me you two, I'll get it." He lifted the receiver from the wall. Their new phone with a long cord and buttons on the handset instead of a dial on the receiver.

"What?" he barked grumpily into the phone.

It was Jin on the other line, and he sounded concerned, nervous. Jin didn't typically overreact, and he wasn't one for practical jokes, so what he was saying didn't quite make sense.

* * *

"Wait. What?" James asked now, coming awake. His shoulders were exposed, and he thought quickly to cover them, but as the fog of sleep completely cleared he realized it wasn't cold, and he wasn't in Ann Arbor.

Jin answered, "Jack, Kate, and Hurley. They are here in the North Valley. Do you want me to bring them in?"

**OK, so actually there's gonna be one more chapter. So I lied back then about only 2 more chapters. I haven't added any content, just changed up how I split this up. I'm going on a ski trip this weekend (sort of -- I'll be reading/lounging in the lodge), so I want to get this ALL DONE by then.**


	15. The End

****

Ooooh. I didn't think I was going to get to this before I left, but I just decided to sit down and bang it out. ALL DONE!

When Oceanic 815 crashed, everything happened so damned fast. And so, Sawyer reacted the way he always had: snap, instantaneous judgments.

That guy running around, saving everyone's life, making speeches? The doctor? A douchebag Dudley Do-Right. The Middle Eastern dude? On a plane that just crashed? Terrorist, and if not, a scary motherfucker, better to be left alone. The fat guy? A harmless, entertaining blockhead.

That girl? The hot one with the freckles? Instantaneous connection. Immediate attraction.

That was life. That had _always_ been his life. His "career" was based on quickly summing people up, making snap judgments, and acting on them. And damn, he was good at it.

That Asian psychic dude? Nothing but trouble and too smart-mouthed by half. That uptight, rigid Korean? A domineering asshole and a huge pain in the ass.

That blonde woman? The one Jack drug back from The Others? Bad News and one scary bitch to boot.

But in Dharmaville, everything happened so damned slow. It happened in endless 9-to-5 shifts playing "20 Questions;" and it happened on Saturday mornings when the water was glassy and the fish weren't biting; and it happened on Thursday nights playing Battleship.

It happened every time he shared a beer with Miles and gave him shit about the women he was trying to hook up with. It happened with every curse word and lame cliché he taught Jin. It happened every time he finished a book and handed it to Juliet with a "You gotta read this one next."

It happened every time Miles had an encounter with his parents, and James learned to back off and ease up on him for a few hours at least. It happened every time he sat listening to Jin reminisce about his 1st date with Sun, or 8th, or 10th, or 13th. It happened every time he and Juliet made love, and he could lie there afterwards and relax instead of wildly spooling his mind towards how to get out, how to take her money.

But then they came back, and everything happened so fast again, and he wasn't used to it. He couldn't handle it. His snap judgments weren't working anymore, and he just couldn't make it work.

He _tried_ to be nice to Jack, but Jack said one assy thing, and BOOM! Snap judgment: Doc's still an overbearing douche. And James didn't have time to notice that the Doc was actually just sitting back, letting things happen . . . until it was too late.

He _tried_ to give Hurley the benefit of the doubt. He gave him a great, big giant hug, but Hurley asked some idiotic question about the president, and BOOM! Snap judgment: Hurley's still a blockhead. And James didn't have time to notice that maybe just talking to Hurley, of all people, could have straightened him out, got him to slow down, see the big picture . . .until it was too late for that.

He tried to give Sayid a way out. He worked up this great plan that Sayid was a defecting hostile, and he was gonna spring Sayid from jail, but Sayid wasn't going along, and BOOM! Snap judgment: Sayid's still a loose cannon, and best to leave him to fend for himself. And James didn't have time to notice that leaving Sayid alone would allow Little Ben Linus to slip in and help the loose cannon escape . . . until it was too late.

He tried to pretend it didn't matter that Kate was the first girl he ever really loved. Because it didn't matter, not really. And BOOM: Snap judgment: Shit, I'm still attracted to her. And James didn't have time to notice that it didn't mean a damn thing, because there were plenty of women he was attracted to (that Dharma teacher, Jessica, that Farah Fawcett poster Miles had taped up in the security room . . .), but only one woman he'd happily spend mornings, afternoons, evenings, and nights with . . . until it was too late.

It all happened too fast. He just didn't have time, and he kept making these snap judgments and they didn't work, and it all just went away. And the last he knew, Jin was who knew where, and Miles was screaming at his dad, and Juliet had just been right here. He had her. _He had her._ But she was gone now. It was all gone. Nothing mattered, and if he had any energy, any life force, he would have just jumped in, too. And Kate was pulling at him, and now Jack, and if he could move at all, if he could just will his limbs to work, he'd push them away. But he couldn't. He couldn't move. He couldn't do anything but say her name, and feel the ache in his arm where her weight had been.

Soon, he'd regain strength. Soon he could move again. This place had been littered with guns. Surely they hadn't all been sucked down there with her. Surely there was one somewhere and he could find it and put it in his mouth, and be done with it all.

But the ground started rumbling and shaking and the sky turned to white and his head burned and . . .

* * *

He couldn't fucking believe it. I mean, Christ, _he_ had clothes that didn't cost that much. He wondered if Cassidy was playing a sick joke. "You wanna buy your daughter a birthday present? Fine, here, buy these doll clothes." Shit, $32 for a doll dress?

He'd left the American Girl store in a huff, and felt much better in the aisles of the big box toy store. He'd stopped at the Barbie stuff. Much more reasonably priced. He wondered if Clementine had any Barbies. Then he berated himself for not knowing. Plus, it wasn't that he wanted to be cheap, just, shit . . . $32 for doll clothes?

He passed a display of Hungry Hungry Hippo games at the end of an aisle. Now that would be fun. But he imagined Cassidy's voice, "You aren't the one who has to listen to the racket that game makes." So, he decided against Hungry, Hungry Hippo and looked further into the game aisle. Candyland? Nah, she was too old for that. Clue? Probably not ready for a game about a murder.

Battleship? Huh. Now that was a fun game. One of his favorites. He remembered when he used to. . . well, shit, what did he remember? "You just sank my battleship!" That was from the commercial. He stared at the boxes. Quite frankly, he couldn't _ever _remember playing this game, and yet . . .

"Excuse me? Sir? Are you OK?"

He'd been so spaced out, he hadn't even realized someone else had walked into the game aisle.

"It's just, you've been staring at those Battleship games for awhile," she said.

_Well, don't I feel like an idiot._ But, hell, maybe she could help him. He said, "It's my daughter's seventh birthday, and I'm lookin' for a gift. My ex says I should get American Girl doll clothes. You have kids?"

"No," she said, looking wistful, almost sad. She brightened right away though. "I'm shopping for my nephew's birthday. He'll be seven too, and I'm supposed to get something called Bakugan. I don't even know what that is!"

"Can't help you there," he said. "But, well, I guess you used to be a seven-year-old girl . . ."

"Way back in the '70s, sure," she answered.

"Did you like Battleship?"

"Oh, yeah!" she exclaimed. "I _loved _it! I used to always . . ." she trailed off. She looked off to the side, confused. "You know what? Now that I think of it, my sister used to say it was a boys' game. So, I guess I didn't ever really play." But then she stared at the game boxes, much as he'd been doing. She shook her head as if to clear it. "I do remember 'You just sunk my battleship!', right?"

_Right, _he thought. _Just right_. Something about the way she said it was just perfect, but who knows why.

"Maybe I oughta stick with the list my ex gave me," he decided.

"Probably best," she said. "Well, good luck. Off to find Bakugan!" She smiled at him, and good God, it turned his insides to jelly. She breezed past him, and the most amazing smell wafted after her. He felt almost drunk. It couldn't be perfume, it was too subtle to be perfume. It must be shampoo. Jesus, her hair smelled fantastic. He could hear the sharp staccato of her heels marching to the end of the aisle.

"Hey, wait," he called after her. The clacking heels stopped, she turned to look at him. "I guess I gotta go back to that American Girl store, but I think I'm gonna get this Battleship game, too. If you wanna play some, I think I'll be at the Starbucks down the street in about half an hour."

_My husband doesn't really approve of me meeting strange men for coffee._

_Sounds great, but I'm really in a hurry._

_I'd love to, but I've got a big meeting._

_I don't drink coffee._

_I don't play board games with strangers._

All, he supposed, were likely, reasonable answers. When she looked at him, she cocked her head to the side, sussing him out.

"Sounds like fun!" she said. "See you there!"

* * *

He leaned back in the comfy chair, holding his warm cup of coffee. Today Starbucks was playing old World War II standards, and Bing Crosby was crooning away on the sound system.

_Kiss me once, then kiss me twice  
Then kiss me once again.  
It's been a long, long time.  
Haven't felt like this, my dear  
Since I can't remember when.  
It's been a long, long time._

He closed his eyes and let the lyrics wash over him. Something about them just fit. He looked up every time the bells on the door rattled. She probably wasn't coming. Why would she? And what made him ask a woman to a coffee shop to play a kids' board game?

The bells rattled again, and it was her. She lifted a bag from the toy store, waved it in his direction. She must have found her octagon or whatever it was she needed. She went first to the counter to place an order, then came to sit next to him.

"Kind of a weird way to spend an evening, huh?" he asked her, and she nodded. He said, "I don't even know your. . ."

"Juliet!" called the man at the counter.

She stood up. "That's my coffee."

"And that answers my question," he said. "I'm James, by the way."

"Nice to meet you James."

She turned to get her coffee. Bing kept on crooning.

_You'll never know how many dreams  
I've dreamed about you.  
Or just how empty they all seemed without you.  
So kiss me once, then kiss me twice  
Then kiss me once again.  
It's been a long, long time._

Something about that just sounded right to James.

THE END

**Sorry for the Bing -- I've been listening to sentimental WWII music for some reason. **

**Well, everyone, thanks *so much* for spending this never-ending hiatus (but it _is _ending!!!!) with me and my stories. It's been a lot of fun. I'd love to list out everyone who's been so helpful and encouraging, but I'd be sure to leave someone out. So, I just want to say thanks. Anyway, season 6 starts SOON, and I guess I'll just leave it up to the professionals from here on out.**

**I have a teensy tiny epiloge idea. If I get it written before the season starts, I'll post it. Otherwise, this is where the story ends.**

**THANKS AGAIN, EVERYBODY!**


	16. The End X

**APOLOGY #1: This isn't the epilogue I promised. SORRY! In fact, I've decided against that. I liked where the story ended, it was sweet, hopeful, etc. Just imagine the epilogue: and they lived happily ever after.**

**APOLOGY #2: This is the laziest chapter ever written. Seriously, I cut and pasted most of the last chapter, but . . Well, durn it! So close! So very close. I've made a few key changes. They do it on LOST, right? Show the same scene with minor changes?**

**Spoilers for 6.01 . . . if you haven't seen it, you'll be wondering why I even bothered to change it. So, might as well wait till you watch the episode.**

But the ground started rumbling and shaking and the sky turned to white and his head burned and . . .

* * *

He couldn't fucking believe it. I mean, Christ, _he_ had clothes that didn't cost that much. He wondered if Cassidy was playing a sick joke. "You wanna buy your daughter a birthday present? Fine, here, buy these doll clothes." Shit, $32 for a doll dress?

He'd left the American Girl store in a huff, and felt much better in the aisles of the big box toy store. He'd stopped at the Barbie stuff. Much more reasonably priced. He wondered if Clementine had any Barbies. Then he berated himself for not knowing. Plus, it wasn't that he wanted to be cheap, just, shit . . . $32 for doll clothes?

He passed a display of Hungry Hungry Hippo games at the end of an aisle. Now that would be fun. But he imagined Cassidy's voice, "You aren't the one who has to listen to the racket that game makes." So, he decided against Hungry, Hungry Hippo and looked further into the game aisle. Candyland? Nah, she was too old for that. Clue? Probably not ready for a game about a murder.

Battleship? Huh. Now that was a fun game. One of his favorites. He remembered when he used to. . . well, shit, what did he remember? "You just sank my battleship!" That was from the commercial. He stared at the boxes. Quite frankly, he couldn't _ever _remember playing this game, and yet . . .

"Excuse me? Sir? Are you OK?"

He'd been so spaced out, he hadn't even realized someone else had walked into the game aisle.

"It's just, you've been staring at those Battleship games for awhile," she said.

_Well, don't I feel like an idiot._ But, hell, maybe she could help him. He said, "It's my daughter's seventh birthday, and I'm lookin' for a gift. My ex says I should get American Girl doll clothes. You have kids?"

"No," she said, looking wistful, almost sad. She brightened right away though. "I'm shopping for my nephew's birthday. He'll be seven too, and I'm supposed to get something called Bakugan. I don't even know what that is!"

"Can't help you there," he said. "But, well, I guess you used to be a seven-year-old girl . . ."

"Way back in the '70s, sure," she answered.

"Did you like Battleship?"

"Oh, yeah!" she exclaimed. "I _loved _it! I used to always . . ." she trailed off. She looked off to the side, confused. "You know what? Now that I think of it, my sister used to say it was a boys' game. So, I guess I didn't ever really play." But then she stared at the game boxes, much as he'd been doing. She shook her head as if to clear it. "I do remember 'You just sunk my battleship!', right?"

_Right, _he thought. _Just right_. Something about the way she said it was just perfect, but who knows why.

"Maybe I oughta stick with the list my ex gave me," he decided.

"Probably best," she said. "Well, good luck. Off to find Bakugan!" She smiled at him, and good God, it turned his insides to jelly. She breezed past him, and the most amazing smell wafted after her. He felt almost drunk. It couldn't be perfume, it was too subtle to be perfume. It must be shampoo. Jesus, her hair smelled fantastic. He could hear the sharp staccato of her heels marching to the end of the aisle.

"Hey, wait," he called after her. The clacking heels stopped, she turned to look at him. "I'll figure something out for my daughter, but I think I'm gonna get this Battleship game, too. You wanna play?"

She stood at the end of the aisle, staring at him, unreadable. Damn, that was about the stupidest thing he'd ever asked a woman. What were they gonna do? Just sit right down here in the aisle of the toy store and play a game?

"He pulled the game off the shelf. He was going to buy it no matter what she said, but he still hoped he could convince her. "Errrr. . . I guess it would just be fun. I mean, you know, if you're interested. There's a Starbucks around the corner. It'd be fun." He waved the game box. "We could get coffee sometime."

She stopped staring at him with that blank, expressionless face, but the face that replaced it wasn't any better. Her eyes narrowed, her mouth hung slightly open. Well, damn, that had been the most ham-handed pickup line he'd ever used.

___I don't drink coffee._

_Sounds great, but I'm really in a hurry._

_I don't play board games with strangers._

_I'd love to, but I've got a big meeting._

_My husband doesn't really approve of me meeting strange men for coffee._

_Are you really asking me out here in Aisle 16 of the Toys 'R Us?_

All, he supposed, were likely, reasonable answers. And, yeah, he was kind of asking her out, but if that's what made her so ill-at-ease; if that's what was making her look at him like he'd just sprouted a second head, he'd be happy to take it back. _Not like a date_, he could say. _Just casual, you know. _

"We can go Dutch," he said.

She advanced on him in three long, decisive steps, but stopped about five feet in front of him. Her eyes were still narrowed. She was still looking at him like he was some kind of circus freak. _Shit_, he thought. "Go Dutch." Lame! How old was he? 80? What was he going to say next? "That would be just swell?" And, well, now that he thought of it, was "go Dutch" politically incorrect? Maybe it was offensive? To Dutch people? Was _she _Dutch? Who were the Dutch? The ones with wooden shoes and tulips, right? _That_ image was probably offensive.

But, shit, why was she staring at him like that? She'd stopped the narrow-eyed glaring. Her gaze clouded over, and she stared off to the side, seemingly concentrating on the stack of "Operation" boxes.

"Never mind," he said, lamely. Whatever chance he had, he'd just blown it.

But she seemed to snap back to reality. She waved her right hand near her temple. "No, I'm sorry," she said. "The last two weeks have just been crazy for me. I swear, my mind's playing tricks. I think coffee and Battleship would be lovely. Give me about thirty minutes . . . I'll see you there!"

* * *

He leaned back in the comfy chair, holding his warm cup of coffee. Today Starbucks was playing old World War II standards, and Bing Crosby was crooning away on the sound system.

_Kiss me once, then kiss me twice  
Then kiss me once again.  
It's been a long, long time.  
Haven't felt like this, my dear  
Since I can't remember when.  
It's been a long, long time._

He closed his eyes and let the lyrics wash over him. Something about them just fit. He looked up every time the bells on the door rattled. She probably wasn't coming. Why would she? And what made him ask a woman to a coffee shop to play a kids' board game?

The bells rattled again, and it was her. She lifted a bag from the toy store, waved it in his direction. She must have found her octagon or whatever it was she needed. She went first to the counter to place an order, then came to sit next to him.

"Kind of a weird way to spend an evening, huh?" he asked her, and she nodded. He said, "I don't even know your. . ."

"Juliet!" called the man at the counter.

She stood up. "That's my coffee."

"And that answers my question," he said. "I'm James, by the way."

"Nice to meet you James."

She turned to get her coffee. Bing kept on crooning.

_You'll never know how many dreams  
I've dreamed about you.  
Or just how empty they all seemed without you.  
So kiss me once, then kiss me twice  
Then kiss me once again.  
It's been a long, long time._

Something about that just sounded right to James.

THE END X


End file.
